


The Markings of a Machiavellian Scheme

by ysengrin



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and Hux refuses to be an ingenue, and a plethora of gothic tropes, gothic novel AU, where Ren tries to be Byronian, which Hux keeps trying to subvert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 23:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 74,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19386469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysengrin/pseuds/ysengrin
Summary: Hux is an engineer down on his luck. When moody nobleman Kylo Ren comes to town, Hux seizes his chance, thinking to extort Ren's support for a grand urban scheme. Accepting an invitation from Ren seems like the first step towards regaining his reputation.Except Ren lives with a strange old man in a decaying mansion, where the rain never abates, and there are strange shadows lurking around the corners...





	1. Where there is a ball

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is not set in a specific time and place, although if you squint, I suppose you could read it as a Georgian era fic, with the town scenes happening in London. However, I wasn't about to force Phasma into a dress, so this is a historical AU, where Phasma can be a captain, and Leia a general.
> 
>  
> 
> **[This is a repost of a story that I originally wrote and posted between March and July 2016.]**

Hux woke up from a strange dream to find the room swaying around him, and he thought, for a bewildered second, that he was back on a ship, headed for war in the middle of a storm. The room pitched to the side. Hux rolled over, following the slope, and found himself heaving into a bucket placed at the foot of the bed.

The thick carpet beneath the bucket, with its pattern of flowers and hummingbirds, did not fit in the least with Hux’s recollections. There had been no carpets on the ship, only dirty floorboards, and the occasional scurrying rat. He suffered another bout of retching, and clung to the rim of the bucket with clammy hands.

There was no war, he remembered. The war was over, and he was home.

There was no home, he remembered. He was at home in the war, and the war was over.

 

 

 

There was a knock on the door, and Phasma appeared on the threshold, never one to wait for an invitation. Hux had to remind himself that this was her house, and that he could hardly throw her out of her own guest room.

‘You should get up’, she said. He could see one of the servants in the corridor behind her, holding what appeared to be a fresh set of clothes.

‘I’m not sure that I can get up’, he answered, somewhat snidely, still clutching the bucket with both hands. It occurred to him that someone had placed the bucket there. It was unlikely to have been Phasma, which meant he must have made a spectacle of himself when he’d turned in the night before.

‘You were the one who said that it was of paramount importance that we attend that ball’, she reminded him.

Hux pushed the bucket away and threw himself back amongst his disordered sheets. The servant was still hovering behind Phasma. He resented her curious look more than Phasma’s intrusion. It would only be a matter of time now before the whole household knew that Phasma’s friend, the military engineer with no title and no fortune, was a slovenly drunk. Then again, perhaps it was better to be known as a disreputable nobody, rather than as the once promising son of a disgraced commandant.

‘The ball is at eight tonight’, he grumbled.

‘It is seven’, Phasma pointed out equably. ‘I let you sleep through the day. It seemed like you could use the rest.’ She turned towards the servant, wrenched the clothing from her waiting arms, and strode into the room, slamming the door in the girl’s face.

‘Get up’, she ordered. ‘And use the basin. You smell like the back-alley of a tavern.’

 

 

 

'Might I make a suggestion?'

Hux tore his eyes from the dark rows of houses and faced Phasma, who sat across from him in the carriage. Her brand new uniform gave her a regal air, not that he would have told her so. The epaulettes complimented her broad shoulders well. She looked imposing, rather than awkwardly bulky, which tended to be the case with her usual garb. The gold buttons of the coat made it seem as if her hair itself was gleaming.

He offered a stiff nod.

'Whomever you have come here to impress... Try to look more engaging. Less...' The corners of her mouth quirked into an involuntary smile. 'Less like you are about to eat them alive.'

Hux let out a shrill laugh. It was true that he felt hounded, desperate even, and his reaction to unpleasant situations was invariably to wind himself up. A young artificer had told him, once, that he was a cocked pistol: any release of his pent-up tension was liable to trigger a potentially deadly discharge.

Hux had shot the artificer in a duel, later, in the wake of the scandal surrounding his father’s demise. But that was neither here nor there.

‘Thank you’, he said, trying not to sound too heartfelt.

Phasma looked at him quizzically. ‘It was a simple piece of advice. It hardly warrants any gratitude.’

‘My gratitude extends beyond the advice.’ Hux’s eyes drifted back towards the window. They had reached the other end of the park, where the ball was to take place. He could already see the columned entrance, awash in light, and the row of carriages, waiting their turn to alight by the front steps. ‘I am grateful that you are letting me use your name’, he said, fingers tapping against the frame of his window in nervous anticipation. ‘We both know they wouldn’t have admitted me otherwise.’

‘My name is worth about as much as yours’, Phasma snorted. ‘We owe our presence here tonight to my new captaincy.’

‘I will thank you for being an able sailor, then, and an able leader.’ He smirked. ‘And I’ll thank your previous captain for dying at an opportune time.’

Their carriage reached the porch at last, and Hux followed Phasma when she jumped out. As they ascended the steps and walked into the front hall, he remained carefully in her shadow. He was still unused to feeling self-conscious. Though he faintly remembered his childhood as a time of perpetual inadequacy, he had thought that period of his life was over. He realized now that such feelings could never be completely eradicated, and he pulled at his cuffs and straightened his jacket one too many times, convinced he had picked the wrong clothes. One moment he feared he would be invisible, too dull to be noticed, and the next, he worried someone would recognize him, and spread the word of his disgrace through the candlelit crowd.

‘Captain Phasma!’

Their hostess was a duchess, an old lady who liked to play the part of a vapid fool, but whose gaze remained sharp and cunning. She let Phasma kiss her hand with a little bat of her pink and grey fan.

‘I am delighted you decided to join us, Captain’, she simpered, craning back her head to try and meet Phasma’s pale blue gaze. ‘Ever since the rumours of your latest exploits reached the city, there has been talk of nothing else. “ _Who_ is this Captain Phasma?”, society asks, and I to answer, wait and see! I will be the one to introduce this... _legend_ to the world. But who is your companion?’

Before Phasma could answer, the old lady had scooted forward, fixing her beady eyes upon Hux’s reddening face.

‘Ah, there’s no use for introductions. I know this one. You’re Brendol’s son. I would recognize that red hair anywhere. And there’s something of the old Commandant in your eyes, too, young man. I would be wary of that, if I were you.’

‘Your Grace’, Hux said, his humility as blatantly false as the lady’s airy-headedness. ‘I have no intention of ever emulating my father, in any way.’

The Duchess tapped her fan against his cravat. She rose on tiptoe to whisper close to his face. ‘If nobility has taught me one thing, it is that cruelty runs in the blood, young Armitage.’

Hux remained frozen as she glided away, the gems in her flimsy grey skirts catching the light of the many candles. Phasma was watching him dispassionately.

‘This could have gone worse’, she said. She did not seem overly concerned by the nasty look Hux sent her way.

 

 

 

It should have been impossible to lose someone like Phasma in a crowd. Yet when Hux finally managed to disentangle himself from the dour minister the Duchess had introduced him to, the tall captain was nowhere to be found. The only person in the room who even vaguely approached her stature was a dark-haired young man, hovering between a door and a fluted column as if by standing close to the shaft, he might turn into a column himself, and muster a sense of belonging. Looking moodily bored was decidedly not on Hux’s agenda, and he stalked quickly across the room and towards the next one, hoping to encounter Phasma along the way.

He might have been alerted to the proximity of the ballroom by the jarring presence of music in his ears, but it was quite difficult to distinguish an orchestra from the din of idle chatter and clinking glasses. In truth, the whole experience of this urban ball was proving so oppressive that Hux was only faintly surprised when he stumbled his way out of the crowd and found himself surrounded by dancers. He retreated precipitously, narrowly avoiding the sweep of a young woman’s silk skirts.

Forcing his way through a barricade of twittering young ladies and overprotective matrons, he joined the row of men who watched the dancers with studied disinterest at the back of the ballroom.

‘Hux! You don’t dance either?’

He turned, startled, to find himself in front of an old acquaintance. There was no mistaking the pinched expression on that painfully earnest face.

‘Lieutenant Mitaka’, he ventured, with a guarded smile. Up until a minute ago, Hux would have given anything to run into a friendly face, rather than the practiced blend of hostility and indifference that he had had to contend with so far. Now he found himself forced to re-evaluate that wish. There was enough shared history between Mitaka and him that he would rather have spent the evening wooing the Duchess than having to endure what was certain to be a dreadfully awkward conversation.

‘I have managed to secure a dance with the Duchess’s granddaughter’, Mitaka declared, ever-so-slightly pompous. He puffed his chest, hands behind his back. Hux averted his eyes. Mitaka reminded him of a time when he had also tried with little restraint to seek the approval of people he admired.

‘How extraordinary’, he commented drily, finding a spot along the wall, between Mitaka and a young man with a head of frizzy blond curls. ‘How long do you have to wait?’

‘She is engaged at present, dancing with Mr Bell. Then I believe... Henry Swanson? And Captain Phasma got to her right before I did. So it should be my turn in four dances. But three dances from now, I will dance with Lady...’

‘Mitaka’, Hux sighed, closing his eyes against the blur of revolving bodies, wishing he could shut his ears to the constant chatter of the row of women in front of him. ‘I was being polite. I don’t give a damn.’

When Mitaka failed to answer, Hux cracked an eye open, if only to ensure that he had not inadvertently angered him. But the Lieutenant was looking at him with something that could only be described as fondness, his angular features softened by a wistful smile.

‘You haven’t changed’, he said.

Hux felt like seizing the closest candelabra and slamming it into the side of Mitaka’s head.

‘Don’t look at me like that’, he muttered, unable to keep the irritation from his tone. ‘I am not here to reminisce. I have business to do.’

‘Business?’

It struck Hux, then, that Mitaka might be able to help him, although he knew little of the man’s relations. He recalled, dimly, something about Mitaka being an illegitimate child.

They had met in a foreign land, the first time Hux was garrisoned away from his father. He had been tasked with overseeing the repairs in a tumbledown fort after a tempest, on an island where the very air tasted different from anything he'd ever known. During the four months he had spent on the island, he had felt briefly, intoxicatingly free, the master of his own fate.

He knew now what a mistake that had been.

‘I have... a project’, he said, tentatively. ‘An engineering project. Possibly the greatest feat of engineering of our times.’

He might be exaggerating, but it would take either an engineer or an extremely perceptive person to notice it, and Mitaka was neither of those things. There was a reason why he had made such a good soldier – he was far better at following orders than at questioning them.

‘Now I know there has been talk of rebuilding Hosnian Square’, he went on. ‘But they will not just consider any project.’

‘You need backing’, Mitaka concluded.

‘I need backing’, Hux agreed. ‘My name is not worth anything anymore, and I am not lucky enough to have a title or money to rely on. I tried to appeal to a few of my father’s old friends in Parliament, but most of them won’t...’ He hesitated.

‘I am sorry about what happened’, Mitaka jumped in, primly but with genuine care. ‘With your father. A shame, if you ask me.’ Rubbing his thin moustache thoughtfully, he turned a measuring gaze to their surroundings. ‘What kind of support are you after?’ he asked.

‘Old nobility’, Hux replied. He followed Mitaka’s lead and gauged the crowd. He had a few names, people of influence who had not been particularly outspoken about his father’s fall from grace. ‘I managed to get the ear of influent members of the Board of Ordnance, but there is a faction standing against me... The Resistance, some charity board dead-set on protecting old buildings from destruction.’

‘General Organa’s pastime’, Mitaka commented.

Hux might have been wrong in viewing the man as little more than an encumbrance. Instead of pursuing his perusal of the room, he shifted his focus back to Mitaka, making use of their forced proximity to step into the man’s space, his elbow brushing against his side. Affection was a foreign concept to him, and his light green eyes remained cold, but he could recall a time when Mitaka had not found that particularly displeasing.

‘Who would you advise me to talk to?’ he asked. He was close enough that he could feel the Lieutenant shiver against his side. It used to be a heady feeling, empowering, even.

In times like these, Hux felt ancient, as if he had seen everything, and all that remained to be done was to go through empty motions, with the occasional glass of wine in his hand.

‘You need support from someone influent’, Mitaka summarized, ‘and you need to go against General Organa. The logical choice would be... Him.’

He pointed towards the doors to the ballroom, which had just admitted a singular sight. A tall young man, who seemed to have walked in from another era. His jet-black hair, curling over his collar, was styled for a different century. His blood red cravat was an aggressive eyesore above his forlornly out-fashioned waistcoat, a masterpiece of intricate silver embroidery that had seen better days. The man’s face itself seemed out of place and out of time, the dark, haughty stare turned inwards with little preoccupation for what went on around it. This forced a few couples to sidestep the man as he wandered among the dancers. It took Hux a moment to place him. The stranger was the guest who had been trying to turn himself into a column.

‘Who is this?’ he asked, his eyes drawn to the figure as one would be to the sight of a person willingly stepping into the path of a fast-moving carriage. The man arrived in front of a couple formed by the Duchess’s granddaughter, a tall strong-minded lady of seventeen, and her current partner, a clumsy man in a fancy jacket.

‘This is Sir Kylo Ren’, Mitaka answered, precisely as the girl caught sight of the man’s lumbering, discourteous presence. To Hux’s surprise, she dropped her partner’s hand, and accepted Ren’s wordless invitation. Her dainty fingers disappeared inside the man’s grip. The pale, long-fingered hand sent a shiver down Hux’s spine, like a nightmare half forgotten, suddenly resurfacing in fragments. A white spider, a lightning bolt. Stones and bones. He blinked, taken aback.

The man had begun dancing with the young lady, but his eyes fell on Hux as he passed by, as if he had sensed his thoughts. An absurd idea, Hux told himself, since everyone in the room had their eyes affixed to the scene, and he could still hear a few of the matrons in the row before him grumbling about the man’s flabbergasting lack of manners. But the dark stare stayed with him like the aftermath of a whiplash, blazing across his vision, making his skin tingle and his eyes burn.

'How influent is he?' Hux asked, noting with some surprise that his voice was quavering.

'He's on the rise', Mitaka said, snatching a glass from a passing tray. 'Popular with a more open-minded fraction of the nobility - the foolhardy, debauched youngsters.'

'I apologize for the intrusion, but are you talking about Sir Kylo?'

It was Hux's right-hand neighbour, a young man with florid cheeks and sprightly curls. He looked unsettlingly like an overgrown cherub.

'Yes?' Hux ventured, reluctant to appear interested, yet unable to rein in his curiosity.

'You do know he's General Organa's son, right? Old nobility. Big family troubles. Filthy rich, though.'

'Ren?' It was the blond man's neighbour, who was about a foot shorter, with impressive black whiskers and a jacket in the most abhorrent shade of yellow. ‘He’s a lord alright, although he turned his back on his family. I heard the King created an order for the sole purpose of granting him a knighthood.’

'Have you ever been to the family estate?' the blond man asked, lips pursed in a conspiratorial smile.

'Who would want to go there?' Mitaka scoffed. 'I hear it's a ruin.’

‘I hear it’s haunted’, said the man in the yellow jacket.

‘They call it the Bright Graveyard’, Hux’s neighbour told him, blue eyes twinkling.

‘I couldn’t care less if he was living in a cave’, Hux declared, somewhat impatiently. He turned back to Mitaka. ‘You said he might listen to me?’

‘I know you to be extremely convincing when you set your mind to it’, Mitaka answered innocently, sipping his wine. Hux stared at him hard enough that he spluttered and spat a mouthful back into his glass, the back of his neck reddening.

‘I believe he’s here to find himself a bride’, the blond man said. ‘His behaviour is certainly consistent with that assumption. Now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I had saved Miss Seymour’s next cotillion.’ He smoothed down the front of his pale blue waistcoat and set off towards the dancers.

‘If he did come to find a bride, he isn’t very intent on his task’, Hux remarked, as Ren took his leave from the Duchess’s granddaughter, lips briefly brushing her hand. Loathe as he was to admit it, Hux did dwell on the thought that certain lips fared better when unsmiling, as if they had been made for pouts. Or for the stroke of a thumb, or the lingering touch of a tongue. He shook his head, blinking furiously. He could feel a burn rising to his pale cheeks.

‘With his fortune, he will find a girl easily enough’, Mitaka said, with a bored shrug. ‘A precious little princess, with no knowledge of the world, but an impressive list of accomplishments. Is this not what we all want?’

‘I suppose so’, Hux answered absent-mindedly, his eyes on Ren’s tall back as he left the room.

Hux had been introduced to a few young ladies back in the day, when their mothers still held hope that he would follow in his father’s footsteps. Seducing one of them remained a possibility, although Hux cruelly lacked practice in that domain. He had always been more talented at manipulating facts rather than feelings. And there was no question of him being anything but manipulative. He had forsaken feelings long ago, and when they did resurface, he knew how to weed them out.

‘General Organa’s son’, he mused. ‘Are you acquainted with him?’ he asked Mitaka.

’Unfortunately’, Mitaka began, but was he rudely interrupted by the man in the yellow jacket.

‘I do’, he said. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. William Chatworth. I had the... pleasure of meeting Sir Kylo during a hunting party, last summer.'

Hux hesitated, but in the time it took him to try and decide whether his name would disserve him, Mitaka had stepped in.

'Chatworth, meet Armitage Hux.' Mitaka stared pointedly at the bottom of his glass. 'Hux is a brilliant engineer, and has proven indispensable under various circumstances when we were garrisoned together.'

'Hux', Chatworth repeated, and Hux did not like the spark of understanding in his small black eyes. But the idea of introducing someone to the offsetting lord must have been more entertaining than mockery, for Chatworth gestured grandly towards the door, his bright sleeve glinting in the candlelight.

'Shall we?'

Hux let his hand linger a fleeting moment on Mitaka's shoulder and followed Chatworth out of the ballroom. The man was much shorter than Hux, but he moved with relentless energy, diving through the crowds as if he cared little for the feet he trampled and the silk-clad hips his yellow elbows stabbed along the way.

Hux cast his eyes about, searching for a tall dark silhouette, but the knight was not in the anteroom. The narrow space between the column and the door was now conspicuously empty. Hux followed Chatworth inside another room, where the air was coloured with the smoke of pipes and cigars and men bowed over card tables, loudly discussing the on-going games. From there, they moved to a dark corridor, and then to a small library. The wood-panelled walls were lined with sturdy bookshelves. There was a single candle, planted in a copper candleholder on the wide mahogany desk. It shed light on a massive celestial sphere, and on Sir Kylo Ren's dark head, which was bent close to the candle. He was perusing a heavy volume, balancing it on his knee. A tall window set further away along the wall cast a faint blue halo at the back of the knight's head.

As Chatworth stepped forward, Hux was distracted by what he momentarily thought was a presence behind him. He turned reflexively, but there was nothing there but rows of books. Besides, there would not have been enough space between the shelf and his back for a person to slip through. And yet, he could have sworn a hand had touched his shoulder. He shook his head, annoyed, and reverted his attention to the two men.

'... And this is Armitage Hux, an engineer for His Majesty...'

Hux stepped forward. Kylo Ren looked more like a portrait than a living person, a study in the play of light and shadow across pale skin, the narrow contours of his face enhanced by the high line of his collar. His dark eyes skimmed over Hux and returned to the book in his lap. Hux felt himself go rigid. He had endured his fair share of snubbing and contempt over the past few weeks, but there was something enduringly grating about a rejection that did away with the guise of civility.

Chatworth seemed undeterred, and from the way his eyes glided over to Hux, taking in his offended expression with relish, Hux suspected the man had known from the start what their reception would be.

‘I hope you will enjoy the rest of your evening, Sir’, Chatworth called out, and strutted towards the door. He lingered on the threshold, surprised to see Hux was not hot on his heels.

‘Mr Hux?’

‘Do precede me’, Hux said. ‘I am not yet done here.’

Chatworth’s dumbfounded expression found an unlikely echo in Kylo Ren, who spared a confused glance in Hux's direction. Hux widened his eyes at Chatworth until the man finally caught his drift. The disappearance of his gaudy jacket was something of a relief. Hux turned back towards Ren, who had feigned to return to his book. He slowly closed it, but did not raise his eyes.

‘I do hope the society that you mean to impose upon me is agreeable’, he remarked. His voice was low, strangely muted. Hux had to strain his ears and refrain from stepping closer.

‘To be frank’, he said tartly, ‘I have had enough of being treated dismissively by people who don’t care to look any further than my disastrous family history.’

Ren looked, once again, faintly taken aback. ‘I know nothing about your family’, he said.

‘Which makes it even worse!’ Hux exclaimed, stepping towards the light. Suddenly, he didn't care how manic he might seem. This outburst had been a long time coming. ‘I have contributed to building forts from the ground up, and I can tell you, _Sir_ , none of them are as impregnable as the circles of high society in this country. It feels like screaming in a storm.’

Ren was still staring at him with a mildly puzzled expression. ‘I do not go into society often’, he admitted.

It was now Hux's turn to ogle Ren, his chest still heaving from his outburst.

‘What about your family, then?’ Ren asked, fingers idly playing with the frayed binding of the book.

‘I didn’t come here to talk about my family’, Hux snapped.

Ren raised a dark eyebrow. ‘Well, what is this about, then?’

Hux could not seem to recall a word of his carefully prepared speech. He took a few steps and pretended to gaze at the celestial sphere, running his fingers over the golden pinpricks delineating the constellations. He could feel Ren’s eyes on his back.

‘Do you know of Hosnian Square?’ he asked, at last.

‘Yes’, Ren said. Out of the corner of his eye, Hux could see him set the book aside. ‘There has been talk of renovating the houses’, Ren went on, and after a thoughtful pause, he added, ‘The present square could certainly benefit from a more regular layout.’

Hux’s hand stilled upon the sphere. After weeks of fruitless manoeuvres, he felt something quicken in his breast.

‘The square is in need of extensive renovations’, he ventured. ‘I have designed a system that would enable a thorough draining of the soil. There was a hospital there a few centuries ago. The square belonged to the hospital, they used it as a cemetery. The ground beneath the square is layer upon layer of collapsing soil, because of the graves. I have designed a system to prevent the infiltrations, and to consolidate the foundations of the houses. Of course architectural standards would... What is it?’

Ren was staring at him unguarded. The haughtiness that had seemed inherent to his character mere seconds ago had fallen away. He looked very young, and dangerously expectant. It made Hux feel uncomfortable, as if he had fallen upon a sword while checking the sky for nets and arrows.

‘I am very interested in your project’, Ren said. ‘I wish it were possible for me to discuss it further. Unfortunately, I...’

‘I would not take much of your time’, Hux said. ‘You have more pressing matters to attend to, of course I understand. But perhaps I might visit you tomorrow, with my plans. A more thorough look at...’

‘I will not be in town for long’, Ren interrupted, his eyes downcast. ‘I did not intend to conduct business while I was there.’

Hux could not shake the impression that for Ren this conversation was already over, and that he had lost his bid. It was an unacceptable thought.

‘Perhaps I might write’, he suggested quickly. ‘If you are to leave soon. My future lies in your hands, my lord.’

‘Don’t’, Ren interrupted, one hand raised in warning. ‘I have relinquished that title’, he added, with the faintest hint of pride.

‘The war is over’, Hux went on, the words sliding past his lips before he had decided what it was, exactly, that he wanted to say. ‘It is true that I could ask for work on the first building site I come across, but I also intend to try and restore my image, since at present there is nothing I can rely on – all my father’s assets were seized, including the house...’

‘You want me to support your project’, Ren said. ‘I understand. However my concern at present is mainly to find a suitable bride, and to bring her back to Skywalk. I do not intend to... I cannot afford to implicate myself in the affairs of the town.’

There was an unmistakable note of regret in his voice. Had it not been there, Hux might have retreated. But he had felt Ren’s curiosity, and now it seemed absurd not to exploit it. He found it difficult to tell, however, whether the man’s interest lay in his project, or in the mouth that had spewed said project. Ren’s eyes had stolen a few furtive glances at his lips, and though he probably thought himself discrete, Hux had spent enough years interpreting such signs to know an opening when he saw one.

Still, it felt like the wildest of gambles when he reached for Ren’s hand where it lay atop the book, and grasped his fingers. He half-expected Ren to jerk away immediately, but instead he looked down at their joined hands, with what Hux thought was a rather silly expression. Ren opened his mouth, but did not say a word, and for a time they both remained frozen, Hux unwilling to push his luck, and Ren, it seemed, reluctant to even breathe.

‘You should make your move now’, Hux whispered. ‘Before I change my mind.’

Though Ren did not move from his petrified position against the desk, his hand shifted a little under Hux’s fingers, his thumb coming up to stroke Hux’s palm.

‘I don’t suppose this is still about Hosnian Square’, Ren croaked, looking anywhere but at Hux.

‘I don’t see why it couldn’t be. I am in desperate need of support on that front. However...’ Hux took a step closer, and another, until his knee was nudging Ren’s and it became difficult for either of them to look anywhere but at one another. ‘I saw you, earlier’, he admitted. ‘Outside the ballroom. It seemed like you were about to disappear, to be swallowed by the wall, and I thought...’

His breath caught in his throat. Ren had leaned forward, past Hux’s shoulder, only far enough that he could blow out the candle in a soft exhale. Once the light had gone out, he did not draw back, and Hux felt his breath stir the air by his ear when he spoke. ‘You thought?’

‘I thought, what a waste’, he whispered, and turned ever so slightly, fitting his mouth against Ren’s and feeling Ren’s face leaning into his, the point of his nose digging into his cheek and his eyelashes brushing against his burning skin. Ren’s mouth moved under his, hesitant at first, then urgent and relentless. His hands curled around Hux’s hips and he drew him closer, legs sliding open so Hux could fall against him.

The intricate layers of cotton and linen between them did little to hide the firmness of Ren’s body, or the overbearing weight of his arousal against Hux’s leg. Hux was fairly intoxicated himself by that point, but he could not fail to sense that there was something rash and even desperate about Ren’s behaviour. What had begun as a cautious press of lips had devolved into Ren sucking on Hux's tongue as if he might swallow him whole. The filthiest memory Hux could muster, a wartime whirlwind of blind rutting and panting that had left him with bloody fingers and bruised lips, had nothing on this absurd change of pace, on the frantic scrabbling of Ren's fingers between his legs, on the uncontrolled jerking movements of his hips and the blissful contact of their erections through the rough material of their clothes.

Hux was seized by a disturbing thought: the young lord made him think of a child who, after having been sent to his bed without dinner, wakes up in the middle of the night to the unexpected sight of food. Hux had been such a child once, and in his case, the offering had come from the youngest of his father's cooks, a man who for some reason, and after several days of such punitive treatment, had decided to take pity on him.

Hux parted himself from Ren reluctantly, lips slick with spit and with his cock throbbing between his legs.

'Starving, are we?', he said inanely.

'Someone could come in at any moment', Ren muttered, voice muffled against Hux's neck, which he had begun to kiss as messily as he had Hux's mouth, the careless assaults of scraping teeth followed by cautious licks of his soothing tongue.

'I suppose this is part of the appeal, yes', Hux said. For a second, he remembered why it was that he had stepped into this room in the first place, but the thought was gone as swiftly as it had come.

 _Draining,_ he thought, and, _Build a new city. Build a new world._ (And another thought that tumbled in along with the rest, as though it had been here all along, although it did not quite feel like his own. _Stones and bones,_ the thought went. _A hand white like a bone, white like a bolt of lightning._

'What about my project?'

He did not let the question fall between them but leant close, whispered it in the hollow of Ren's ear and smiled when he felt the light tremor his words had produced.

'Yes', Ren said, neither a question nor a promise, and Hux drew back slightly, fingers latching onto Ren's wrist, his grip tightening until Ren's hand stilled against his crotch.

'This will require a more elaborate answer, I'm afraid', he said, his smile of amusement twisting into the cruel smirk he had often used in such situations. To some extent, he was relieved to be back on familiar ground. He had had few occasions to perceive carnal pleasure as anything but a bargaining tool, if only to enable a mutual exchange of sexual favours. Without warning, he placed his hand firmly against Ren's pants, palming the straining cock through the coarse fabric, and applying enough pressure that Ren let out a startled gasp.

'We could discuss it', Ren managed to say, the words barely strung together.

'When?' Hux dragged his thumbnail down the length of Ren's cock, and when Ren's hips bucked towards him, he withdrew his hand entirely.

Ren mumbled something inaudible. Hux gripped a handful of soft black hair and pulled hard, until Ren had to lift his large nose and his ridiculous mouth from Hux's neck.

'Come home with me', Ren repeated. 'We can talk there.'

'Fine. I will warn my companion that I will not be back tonight.'

'Home to Skywalk', Ren said. Hux was distracted by the proximity of his full mouth, lips parted in silent invitation. The words eventually reached his brain.

'As your new bride?', he scoffed.

'As my guest', Ren said. And added, in a soft entreaty that Hux felt had little to do with that particular request, 'please.'

'Alright', Hux said. He pushed back the disturbing realization that he might have agreed to anything at this point, if only to hear Ren’s strangled voice try to formulate another prayer. His hand closed around Ren’s wrist, thumb brushing against his pulse so he could feel it jump when he asked, 'would you prefer me to finish this with my hands, or with my mouth?'

Ren was not the first nobleman Hux had met who harboured such tendencies. However, contrary to another few occasions that Hux remembered all too vividly – a vision of authoritative fingers and of the sharp derisive slant of a young and yet infinitely bitter mouth – Ren did not regard this encounter as his due.

He seemed at a loss, his brown eyes fixed so intently upon Hux's face that it looked as if he were trying to see past his features and straight into his thoughts. There was something about this look that made Hux uncomfortable, as if some part of him believed that Ren was capable of such a thing.

He was not even sure what it was that he meant to hide, if there was anything there to hide at all. It was this realization that made him meet Ren's gaze, with a passing thought for how foolish he must seem, with his flushed cheeks and his crazed look of groundless defiance.

'Your hand', Ren said at last, and leaned his forehead against Hux’s temple, eyes sliding shut.

Hux obeyed, quick and methodical, fingers skimming over the fall of Ren's pants, bypassing the few layers of clothing. It took but a few deft strokes and Ren was coming with a tense groan. Hux didn't bother to wipe his hand before he finished himself off as well. He knew he wouldn't last long, not with the brisk rhythm he had honed during the too-short nights of the war, not with the added stimulation of Ren's sticky release on his fingers, the warm slick feel of his hand at once familiar and alluringly strange. He was utterly silent when he came. He wasted no time in extricating his hand from his pants, and he wiped his fingers on the nearest tablecloth, vaguely amused by the depravity of the gesture.

It was only when he went to collapse against Ren that he noticed the man had withdrawn, throwing the brunt of his weight off of Hux and back against the desk, the downward curl of his lips and his still-closed eyes a blatant sign of avoidance. Hux halted his gesture a moment away from the dark cloth of Ren’s jacket, where he had thought to rest his head. He took a staggering step backwards. Ren’s eyes snapped open. Hux recognized his expression. It was the one he had worn back in the anteroom, when he had tried to disappear.

‘Don’t go’, Ren said.

‘I said I was coming with you, didn’t I?’ Hux reminded him. ‘So that we will discuss...’

‘Yes. Your project. Yes.’ Ren dragged a hand down his face. ‘If you let me know of your lodgings, I will have someone drive there tomorrow.’

Hux recited the address. He tired, vainly, to rearrange his waistcoat and jacket and to smooth down his pants. He was suddenly grateful for his choice of a dark outfit. It might yet hide the mess he had made of his underclothes.

‘I will see you tomorrow, then’, he said.

Ren’s voice halted him as he was about to open the door.

‘This was real’, Ren said, with what Hux was coming to understand was his customary tone, devoid of any and all inflexions. ‘You are alive.’

That final statement was incongruous enough that Hux chose to ignore it.

 

 

 

‘I didn’t follow your advice’, Hux told Phasma during the ride back, his ankles crossed on the seat in front of him, head thrown as far back as he could on the headrest. ‘It struck me that some people might want it, and if so, who am I to deny them?’

‘Want what?’ Phasma asked, stifling a yawn. Her blond hair stuck up in all directions and somehow, for once, she seemed as mellow and drowsy as Hux. Later, the both of them would naturally pretend it had never happened, and resume their iron façades, but in the meantime, Hux found he could finally let out the breath he had been holding all evening.

‘Some people just want to be eaten alive’, Hux said, turning his head so he could lean it against his hand. He had thought he would find Ren’s scent on his skin. But the soft, musty smell that lingered on his knuckles did not belong to Ren. It was the smell of old books, and of dust, the smell of bookshelves closing in around the narrow halo of a single candle. It was the smell of an empty room.

 

 

 

The night ended with another conversation in Phasma’s parlour. Hux knew this confrontation was necessary. He valued Phasma's opinion too much to avoid it, even if he feared what she might have to say.

He hadn't bothered to change, delaying the process of piling up his meagre belongings into his trunk. He let himself sink into one of the armchairs by the hearth. Phasma had served him some wine, but he had yet to take a sip. He was content, for now, to watch the way the glass glinted in the firelight.

Phasma stood by a bookshelf in her dressing-gown. Her own glass was perched precariously on top of a pile of books that she had set down on the nearby piano. It was entirely possible that she was looking for something, but then again, Hux had the sneaking suspicion that Phasma never sat down if she could help it. Perhaps it made her feel trapped, or at a disadvantage. Hux had felt that way, once, before he discovered that he could easily cast a disdainful look from the depths of a chair.

‘I would say that this is an incredibly impulsive decision, not to mention reckless’, Phasma said. ‘But I should hope you did not need me to be aware of that.’

‘If he does have the degree of influence you all seem to think, he’s my best chance’, Hux replied. ‘Besides, it’s only for a few weeks.’

‘We’ve both spent “a few weeks” in remote places with men and women we didn’t know. Whether it’s on a ship or in some fortress, you know as well as I do that’s where irreversible mistakes are made. In close confines, in untested waters. And even then, we knew the soldiers around us answered to a particular code, meant to prevent possible misconduct... Men like Kylo Ren do not answer to the same code.’

She pulled a thick volume from the shelf, and casually threw it over her shoulder. It landed square in Hux’s lap, making him yelp in surprise, his fingers tightening instinctively around the stem of his glass.

‘Are you mad?’ he burst out, pulling out his handkerchief to try and wipe the wine that had splashed his wrist.

‘Someone needs to make sure you remain alert’, Phasma said levelly, and joined him by the hearth, setting her glass down on the mantelpiece. ‘Ren should be in there.’

Hux turned over the dusty volume. It was the Book of Peerage. He cast another faintly irritated look at Phasma, and began to skim through the pages.

‘Kylo Ren’, he said at length, finding the few corresponding lines. ‘Master of the Knights of Ren. There’s a date of birth, but nothing about his parentage.’ He looked up. ‘That’s odd. How can he even be in the book, if his parentage is not ascertained?’

Phasma came to peer over his shoulder. ‘You said he was General Organa’s son?’, she mused. ‘Try her entry.’

Hux obediently went back through the book. ‘Does she have another name that you know of?’, he asked, eventually, after he had checked the ‘O’s for the third time. ‘Are we even sure she is a noblewoman, or that she is his mother?’ He slammed the book shut. ‘This is all a colossal waste of time. I don’t care whether his rank is fabricated or not, as long as the rest of that god-awful class embraces him, and my project per extension. Although if you ask me, he is an aristocrat born and bred. You can’t fake that level of entitled haughtiness. Just looking at him makes one want to pry cobwebs from his hair.’

‘Did you?’ Phasma asked, taking a sip of her wine.

’Did I what?’

‘Touch his hair.’

Hux stared at her, his face aflame. ‘You are out of bounds, Captain! And if this is what this conversation has come to, I might as well get myself to bed. I have a long journey ahead of me.’ He pushed his glass onto the mantel, threw the book into a nearby chair and set off resolutely towards the door.

‘I will take this tantrum as a yes’, Phasma called out.

Hux slammed the door as hard as he could.

 

 

 

Hux rarely dreamt. Being a light sleeper, he was prone instead to long stretches of restless tossing and turning, and when he did sleep, it was only to submit, for a few hours at a time, to a vast engulfing darkness.

Yet on the eve of his departure, he had not one dream but several, made all the stranger for the fact that he remembered them upon waking up.

He dreamt that he was asleep, and that he stood by the bed, watching his unconscious self. The sleeping Hux seemed every bit as anguished as the one he saw daily in the mirror, his brow furrowed and his body curled in on itself. It reminded him, uncomfortably, of a boy offering his back to the harsh kicks of so many boots, intent on preserving his soft stomach and the fragile bones of his pale, freckled face. As soon as he had identified that errant thought for what it was, a well-buried memory, he was thrown out of the dream.

He dreamt of a war, though it was unlike any war he had ever experienced. He could hear the sounds of warfare, conflagrations shaking the walls around him. But he was trapped in a seemingly endless corridor, with no means of getting out. He kept on walking, driven by the conviction that he was needed, that his presence alone might turn the tide of the conflict outside. There was a heavy pistol in his hand, the wooden grip warm in his palm. After a time, when nothing changed around him, he reached for the wall, running his fingers across the cut stones. Perhaps he was going in circles - perhaps he was supposed to go through the wall instead of around it. The moment he decided to set down the gun, a light came on at the end of the corridor, an eerie, trembling red glow that set off warning bells inside his skull and impelled him to double back, to go anywhere but towards that foreboding sight.

He stumbled into his third dream exhausted by the previous two. Now he walked among knee-high weeds, a few feet away from what he guessed was an impressive drop. Beyond it, he could glimpse the line along which a faint change in colour separated the sky from the sea. There was a woman at the very edge of the cliff, looking down. He could only see her back, the heavy coil of her dark brown hair around the crown of her head, the dense floral pattern of the shawl around her thin shoulders. He thought at first that she meant to jump from the cliff, and he wondered if he was supposed to rush forward and stop her. After a time, she turned slightly, and beckoned him forward. She repeated the gesture a few times, first waving him over and then pointing insistently towards the bottom of the cliff.

Hux awoke feeling the dregs of the dream on the back of his eyelids. It unsettled him that he did not know if she had truly meant to show him something, or if she had wanted him to jump to his death.

 

 

 

Although he had tried to appear determined during his conversation with Phasma, Hux was curious to see whether his decision would withstand the cold light of day. He half-expected Ren to look different, and to some extent, he did. Hux’s memory of the previous night was one of warmth, of hazy softness and strength withheld. The man he met outside Phasma’s house wore an elaborate mask, one that allowed for polite civility and little else. Hux soon had to confront the rather troubling thought that he would have preferred contempt or even outright hatred to this dead-eyed indifference.

Aside from a few stilted pleasantries exchanged in Phasma’s presence, the only words Ren issued in the carriage concerned the modalities of their journey. When Hux tried to start a conversation with a question about Ren’s family home, he was met with a heavy silence.

From then on, he resolved to beat the elusive man at his own game. Every time Ren shifted on the seat across from him, whether to better settle his tall body against the window or to ease some cramped muscle, Hux, who had cultivated throughout a sombre childhood the ability to remain preternaturally still, perceived it as a victory. He sat and stared and watched with detached pleasure as his annoying companion grew increasingly uncomfortable. Ren was looking out the window, but Hux could tell that he wasn't taking in the passing landscape.

The compartment had certainly not been made for a man of Ren’s size, and he had taken some pains to arrange his long limbs so his legs would not brush against Hux’s knee with every jolt of the carriage. The farther they went from the capital, the worse the roads became. Hux watched with bitter joy as every bump in the road caused Ren's body to jolt and seize as he attempted to keep his distance.

Hux did not check the time, but judging from the distance they had covered, and taking into account three stops during which not a word passed between them, including some protracted lunch affair at a roadside inn, he was fairly sure that their mutual stubbornness had imposed upon them up to seven hours of antagonistic silence.

It came to a point where Hux decided he would have to put an end to this ridiculous affair, which meant finding a way to defeat Ren without uttering a sound. He waited for the next rut, and when he saw Ren bracing himself, he reached out and seized his knee, keeping a straight face, his fingers holding on just tight enough that it would not be read as a gesture of support. He was not quite sure himself if he meant it as an overture or as a threat.

‘There is something I must tell you’, Ren said, abruptly, as if the words had been wrenched from his lips by Hux’s touch.

‘Is this about my plans?’, Hux asked. He made to remove his hand. Ren covered it with his own, and Hux temporarily lost his train of thought. He thought of taking advantage of the next jolt to let himself fall upon Ren, forgetful of the tension of the previous hours, but Ren beat him to it, rising gauchely to change seats and settle next to Hux, crushing him against the door of the carriage. He had let go of Hux’s hand as he moved, but he reappropriated it as soon as he was seated, and held it with the utmost care.

‘Afraid of breaking my fingers?’, Hux asked drily.

‘When we arrive’, Ren said, cautiously. ‘There is someone I want you to meet.’

Hux thought of relatives, of a lover, and then, without quite knowing why, of an unmarked grave. He had a vague suspicion that every odd thought he had had in the past two days had been related to Ren somehow, as if the man’s standoffish, forlorn behaviour cast an aura of grief around him, a penetrating darkness that corrupted everything within its reach.

As if in answer to his thoughts, there was a startling thunderclap, followed by the first splatter of rain across the windows of the carriage. Hux was fairly sure the sky had been clear only minutes before. He dismissed the thought and brought his attention back to Ren. The last remnants of his indifferent façade were crumbling. His eyes were fixed upon Hux’s hand, and would not stray from it.

‘I think he would benefit from some company’, he said. The sentence might have been innocuous in anyone else’s mouth, but Ren managed to make it sound as if he was hiding something, and making a poor job of it.

‘You weren’t looking for a bride, then’, Hux probed, finding an answer in Ren’s tense swallow. ‘You were looking for a... companion, for someone else?’ He tried to retrieve his hand, fighting against Ren’s restraining grip. ‘Perhaps this is something you might have said earlier. Perhaps a moment before I put my tongue in your mouth, and my hand on your cock?’

Ren’s hangdog look was becoming increasingly more grating, and Hux tried, once again, to pull his hand free. Unsurprisingly, given the size of the hand that held his captive, he failed.

‘I didn’t have a chance’, Ren said.

Hux laughed, incredulous. ‘You didn’t have a chance?’

‘And later, it seemed improper to point it out.’

Hux stared at him, refusing to be distracted by Ren’s thumb and the soft circles it kept tracing on the underside of his wrist.

‘It is not what you think’, Ren pleaded.

‘You can't possibly know what I thinking’, Hux said. ‘I'm not sure I know that myself.’

‘He is an old man, and I am not the best of company’, Ren said. His eyes widened slightly, as if some brilliant idea had just occurred to him. ‘It will help your project along. Greatly. He owns most of the houses on the south side of Hosnian Square. And I still think I could help you, as well. My grandfather was interested in architecture, there are plans I could show you.’ He took a steadying breath. ‘Will you still come with me?’

Hux laughed again, the harsh sound reverberating inside the compartment, making Ren wince. Outside, the rain still poured forth, as if it would never stop.

‘This all sounds like a badly engineered trap, and I fell right into it’, he said. ‘You knew I'd have to come. I can hardly turn back now - I'm not about to spend another seven hours in a bouncing carriage. Although now I come to think of it, we might have put that time to better use.’

There was a loud rap against the window, and Hux nearly fell off his seat. His fingers clenched convulsively around Ren’s. Ren readily answered the pressure, and leaning into Hux’s side, he mumbled against his neck. ‘Let me have this. A moment longer.’

The driver gave another great knock against the window, and peering out through the sheets of rain, Hux could make out the gates of some property, and to the left, the jagged line of a cliff that seemed distantly familiar.

‘Skywalk’, Ren muttered. He straightened up, the anguish of the past few moments gone from his eyes.

Although Hux had found Ren’s pleading nonsensical, and even fairly stupid, he still would have chosen it over the silent, vacant figure that now sat beside him. This stranger had none of the glamour of the aristocrat, and none of the disarming earnestness of the lonely young man Hux had encountered in the library.

‘Do you think the rain will settle soon?’, Hux asked, telling himself that if Ren replied, he would have defeated the looming shadow of the house, even for a moment.

‘It won’t’, Ren replied. ‘The rain never stops around here.’

With anyone else, it might have sounded like an idle complaint. Ren, however, was irrevocably serious, and it sent a cold shiver down Hux’s spine.


	2. Where Hux is annoyed by a draft

For some unexplainable reason, the carriage did not take them all the way to the porch, and by the time Hux reached the beckoning glow of an open service door, he was drenched to the bone. A servant rushed past, lantern in hand, presumably to unload the carriage. Hux did not wait to see whether Ren was following in order to step inside.

He found himself in a small parlour next to the kitchen. A bright fire had been lit in the hearth. The room was the picture of warm comfort, from the fire to the two armchairs that framed a side table, bearing a steaming kettle and a porcelain tea set. Hux threw himself into one of the chairs, still wearing his dripping coat, and let his head fall back against the headrest with a satisfied sigh.

The sound of the door banging shut brought him brutally back to his surroundings. He expected to find Ren or the servant standing on the threshold, but the room was empty. The landscape outside the window was blurred by the heavily pelting rain.

The parlour was simple, flag stones and stone walls, with ceramic tiles creeping up the wall behind the chimney, some of them cracked, the painted patterns on most altered beyond recognition. Hux leaned back against the chair, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. He was met with an unexpected vision, the sight of which was so frightful that for a second, his blood ran cold in his veins.

He blinked and ran a shaking hand down his face. The exhaustion of the long journey was playing tricks on him. There was no living thing clinging to the ceiling. It was only a sculpted corbel, probably a human face, though the eyes were extremely worn out, as if a hand had rubbed the stone over and over until the sculpture lost its sight.

The door banged again, this time against the wall. Ren lowered his head and shoulders to get through. The servant came in behind him, carrying Hux’s trunk.

‘Mary prepared some tea, my lord’, the servant said. Though he had a sturdy build, he looked well past his prime. It was difficult to tell if his appearance reflected his age, or if his weathered face was a result of the environment, of the windswept moors and the ragged cliffs.

‘That will be all, John. Make sure the trunks are brought up to the rooms.’

Hux waited until the servant had left to turn towards Ren with an amused smirk. ‘I see he is allowed to call you “lord”.’

‘He is half-senile’, Ren grumbled, dropping inside the second armchair and extending his legs towards the fire. ‘Do not expect an impressive upkeep. It would take twenty servants to take care of this house properly. There should be eight or nine at present, if none of them ran off while I was away. John and Mary have been here the longest. Their daughter will be tending to your room.’

‘With all this rain, I didn’t even get a proper look at the house’, Hux remarked.

‘You can visit it tomorrow’, Ren said. ‘It will still be raining.’

He seemed oddly jittery. Hux decided he didn’t care to know what was bothering him. He focused on the table instead. There was an array of foods to choose from, and the warmth of the kettle could be felt a foot away from the tray. Hux poured himself some tea. Lifting a few silver lids, he uncovered sausages and potatoes, a soup tureen and a pile of sandwiches. He selected a sandwich and began to nibble at it in between sips of his scalding tea.

Ren stared glumly into the fire. There had been a hat by his side in the carriage, but for some reason he had neglected to wear it during as they ran towards the house. His hair stuck to the back of his neck and dripped onto his collar and hung in clumps over his forehead. Hux studied him for a moment, trying to pinpoint what it was that made one want to call him a lord when Ren himself seemed to care little for the title. It might have had to do with the abrupt angle of his nose, or with the slender, interminable lines of his legs. Or rather, it stemmed from these things, but Ren’s limbs and features were also infused with something else, that seemingly careless grace Hux strongly suspected had been driven into the man by a lifetime of lessons in conduct.

‘What do you see?’ Ren asked, shifting slightly so that his dark eyes rested on Hux. The light of the fire played upon his face, suffusing it with colour. It made Hux want to reach out and touch the orange outline of his cheek, the red curve of his mouth.

‘I wish I knew’, Hux said. He brushed breadcrumbs off his hands and cautiously set down his cup and saucer. ‘There are things that can’t be understood based on sight alone.’

‘What then? A voice? A pulse?’ Ren’s smiled. ‘I wouldn’t say these are reliable clues, either.’

Hux was prevented from answering by a powerful sneeze. Ren’s contemplative gaze changed into a look of vague pity.

‘I will have John show you to your room’, he announced, rising to his feet. ‘Common colds are the bane of this place. If you catch one, there will be no way to get rid of it until you leave. There are drafts everywhere.’

Ren went to call the servant. Hux’s eyes strayed towards the ceiling, where the stone face still peered down at the room with its unseeing eyes.

 

 

 

Hux's impression of the house that night was partial at best. Had he not been so tired, it might have seemed disquieting. Instead, he only retained the memory of a long dark bridge, stretching from the warm little parlour to his bedroom, several floors above. He noticed details in passing – the tall windows splattered with rain, or the intricate wooden latticework along the bannisters of the staircases, and the occasional, faraway glow of a candelabra.

After this glimpse of grandeur, he was relieved to see that his room was of moderate dimensions. He could see all four walls of it, or at least glimpse them behind the heavy oaken furniture and the tapestries. He walked over to one of the windows, thinking to see the irregular line of the cliffs through the rain, but his room must have faced the back of the house. All that he could make out was the dense weaving shape of foliage, and maybe the white line of a wall, somewhere behind what looked like a large pond. The wall across from the window was covered in a dense net of moving shadows, which stretched like fingers from the iron bars of the fire grate. Hux looked to the right, where a portion of the room was dimly lit by the window behind him.

He recoiled abruptly, the back of his thighs bumping against the window frame. He stared at the wallpaper and the wallpaper stared back. When Hux’s eyes jumped to the left, trying to escape that unnerving, unblinking gaze, he found another set of eyes, nearly identical to the first but for the fact that they seemed drowsier, somewhat hooded by drooping eyelids. Then he became aware of another pair of eyes, and another, and suddenly it was as if the entire wall was watching him, the printed stares gaining depth from the shadows around them, which moulded lids and underlined the upward curl of eyelashes until Hux wondered whether the wall was indeed motionless, or if he hadn't seen a draft sweep past the first pair of eyes, briefly causing them to flutter closed.

'Your belongings, Sir.'

John stood in the doorway, Hux's trunk beside him. He was staring at Hux, the curiosity plain on his weathered face.

Hux frowned. Somehow, even after retreating to this remote area, so far away from the capital, he could still be the object of unwanted curiosity.

'That will be all', he said, sharply, and watched as the servant's questioning gaze turned into dislike. John shuffled out and Hux slammed the door behind him, only to realize as he did so that he had just locked himself in with the disturbing wallpaper.

He shrugged off his clothes and burrowed under the covers, turning his back to the wall of eyes, choosing to face instead the faded floral tapestry on the opposite side. He fell asleep to the sound of the wind howling through the branches of the trees, a sound that the steady, comforting crackle of the fire could not drown out.

 

 

 

The house had changed in the morning. As Ren had predicted, it was still raining, but it was more of a drizzle than a downpour. The moment Hux felt sufficiently awake, he walked over to the window. He could now see the park clearly, with its tall, scraggly oaks. There was a wide basin in the middle of the lawn, filled to the brim with dark green water.

The low wall he had glimpsed beneath the trees might have served as a separation once. It was an even structure, with a ditch on the other side of it. The wall must have been partially dismantled at some point in time, for it began in the middle of the park, and ended at the foot of a tree. Hux caught sight of a figure walking on the other side of the ditch. The silhouette was pushing a wheelbarrow. A gardener maybe? The wheelbarrow was empty, and when the man reached the end of the wall, he went around the tree and began walking along the other side, with no purpose that Hux could see. In any case, he was more interested in the wall itself, in its crumbling masonry and in the work it would take to repair it.

He found a jug and basin in a corner of the room, beneath an ornate mirror. When he raised his head from the basin, blinking water out of his eyes, he saw the wall behind him in the mirror, and the wallpaper that had disturbed him the night before. In the light of day, it was difficult to tell what the pattern was, exactly. It could have been multiple pairs of eyes, but it might as well have been clusters of flowers, painted with an utter disregard for natural colours and proportion.

Hux wondered if he was supposed to wait in his room for either Ren or the servant. In the end, impatience got the better of him. There was nothing to occupy himself with, apart from the plans and maps that he had brought, thinking to show them to Ren. He finished dressing himself, grabbed a few of the rolled maps, and set off in search of his host.

 

 

 

Hux suspected that he would not get a good idea of the size of the house until he stepped outside and could observe it from afar. On the inside, it was a garbled, monstrous construction, with wood panels and coffered ceilings. The halls were clustered with several hundred years’ worth of memorabilia, from paintings and statues to dusty furniture, the function of which was often unclear. Hux was also taken aback by the profusion of potted plants. Even in the stairs, it was sometimes necessary to skirt around a trailing vine. Some of the plants were dead. The others grew freely, and seemed well on their way to sucking up all the available air with their straggling leaves.

Hux eventually found his way to the service section of the house, after accidentally walking through a drawing room, a music room and what looked eerily like an abandoned nursery. The kitchen was reassuringly functional, permeated with the smell of roasting meat. The cook was busy spreading out dough at one end of the table, her thick forearms white to the elbows with flour.

‘Forgive the interruption’, Hux ventured, hovering in the doorway. ‘Do you know where I could find Sir Kylo?’

At first, the woman did not even look at him. Her strong arms kept pushing and pulling at the dough, her eyes dead-set on her task. Hux cleared his throat and she slowly lifted her head.

‘Do you know where I could find Sir Kylo Ren?’ Hux repeated, annoyed and maybe slightly unnerved by her fixed stare. She had clear eyes, a shade of blue or green away from being white. It occurred to him that she might have been blind.

‘There you are!’

He turned abruptly to find a girl standing behind him. She had the same pale blue eyes as the cook, and she held a breakfast tray at a safe distance from her stained apron.

‘I went up to your room, but you’d disappeared’, the girl said with a smile. ‘I was bringing your breakfast.’

Hux remained in the way for a moment, at a loss, before he thought of stepping aside so she could set the tray down on the kitchen table.

‘Sir Kylo’s a late sleeper’, she said over her shoulder. She stepped towards a water pump and began to wash her hands, humming under her breath.

Hux looked around him hesitantly. He was reluctant to sit at the kitchen table, but he couldn't just pick up the tray and leave. He wasn’t even sure he would find his way back to his room. The cook brought the palm of her hand down hard against the dough, and Hux jumped, elbow banging against the doorjamb. His sharp hiss of pain caught the girl’s attention.

‘Oh, I’ll take you to Lord Snoke’, she exclaimed. ‘He did say he wanted to meet you as soon as possible. If you give me a minute, I’ll just whisk together his tonic and take you.’

‘Lord Snoke?’

‘Yes. He’ll be in the Green Room, but I don’t suppose you know where that is. Let me just...’

The girl began to run about the kitchen, gathering a tall glass and several bottles. Hux watched on as she measured out the various liquids, pouring in a trickle of this and a few drops of that. She finished with a flourish, sprinkling a handful of herbs on top of the concoction. Behind her, the cook had abandoned the dough to focus on the stew, stirring the pot with a long ladle.

‘That should do it’, the girl declared. Retrieving another tray, she set the drink on top of it. Hux followed her as she walked out of the kitchen.

She seemed far more alert than the other servants he had seen so far. He wondered, yet again, if the odd behaviour of the others was a consequence of having lived too long in this house. Rheumatisms and loneliness, and the drab repetitiveness of an endless succession of grey, rainy days. This girl was younger than him, round and smiling, with rich chestnut hair and a sway to her wide hips. Hux rarely took to people, but he did feel a stab of pity at the idea of her wasting away in that rotting old place.

‘Do you have a name?’, he asked.

‘Oh, it’s Mary, like my mother. I came in a few months ago, to help her out. They lost the last maid, and the rest of the staff isn’t here the year round. I hadn’t been here in years! Not since I was a child. Might I ask your name too, Sir? I mean, we were told Sir Kylo would come back with a young lady. And here you are.’

‘It’s Hux.’ His voice sounded even more cutting than usual in contrast with her voluble chatter. ‘I am here on business’, he added, not quite sure if she had meant anything by her last remark, and if he needed to justify himself further.

‘Here, that’s the room’, the girl said, and passing the tray onto her right arm, she rapped her knuckles against the door. They were back on the second floor, but on the opposite side of the house. The stained glass window above Hux’s shoulder displayed a view of the gates and of the road that slithered away from the house, headed south along the coast.

Hux didn't hear a sound, but there must have been a cue of some sort. Mary pushed the door, and he followed her inside, looking around with barely restrained curiosity. It was another drawing room, with a low coffered ceiling that nearly brushed the top of his head. The room was as messy as the rest of the house. Besides a few overflowing bookshelves and tables, Hux caught a glimpse of various copper instruments, of a globe and of a toppling pile of maps that half-concealed several rows of brown glass jars. He did not have time to investigate further. His attention was drawn to the other end of the room, where Mary was putting down the glass of tonic on a small stool set beside an armchair. The wide stained-glass window behind her bathed the room in red and blue light, and at first Hux didn’t see that there was someone in the chair. He was startled when a slow, raspy voice rose from its depths.

‘Well, come closer. You have the advantage of youth. I do not move as easily as I once did.’

Hux realized suddenly that it might have been a better idea to wait for Ren. He had been unwilling to waste time, eager to set his plans in motion so he would spend the minimal amount of time inside the old mansion. Now, however, he felt completely unprepared. He precipitously ran through the conversation he had had with Ren in the carriage. Ren had mentioned an old man, in want of company. He had said the man owned houses on Hosnian Square.

Hux readjusted his grip on his maps and came closer to the lord’s chair. Mary nudged past him on her way out, sending him a bright smile. He did not smile back.

‘Lord Snoke’, he said, and then faltered. Was he supposed to bow? He inclined his head slightly.

The figure in the chair waved a complacent hand. It was an old man indeed, but his physical decline was not the most noteworthy detail about his person. Hux was immediately reminded of Ren, for under the sagging grey flesh, he could see the structure of what must have once been a riveting face, the features symmetrical, a lifetime of privilege gathered in the slight curl of the finely-drawn mouth, in the slant of the piercing blue eyes.

‘You defy expectations, young man’, Snoke smiled. ‘Kylo Ren told me your name, but it eludes me.’

‘Hux. Armitage Hux. I am an engineer’, Hux said, and seeing an opening, he went on, ‘Ren –Sir Kylo told me you might be interested in my latest project. It concerns Hosnian Square.’

‘He did mention it’, Snoke said pensively. ‘I expect you were thwarted by the upstarts of the Resistance?’

‘Indeed.’

Hux’s expression went sour as he recalled meeting General Organa to discuss his improvement plan. She had been very polite, and very firm. _I would not call the destruction of people’s homes an improvement,_ she'd said. Until then, he had thought that her bright-eyed gaze was guileless. He had been sorely wrong to underestimate the strength of her determination, and the extent of her influence.

_What will happen to the inhabitants of the houses you destroy? Some of them have lived here for dozens of years. They do not care for your ‘improvements.’_

‘Might I see this plan of yours?’ Snoke asked. He extricated a bony hand from the dark quilt that covered most of his hunched figure. ‘I am not well-versed in engineering, but I trust your capacity to explain your vision to me.’

Hux could hardly believe his luck. He promptly set to unrolling the plans atop the table closest to Snoke’s chair, trying not to disturb the various objects and papers that littered the table’s surface.

‘Hux’, Snoke mused. ‘Like the Commandant?’

Hux’s back stiffened.

‘Yes’, he admitted. ‘Commandant Hux was my father.’

‘I cannot say I am surprised. He was a man with ideas, stalled by stubborn fools. Men and women reluctant to look towards the future, and the bettering of this country.’

Hux turned back towards Snoke, his throat too constricted to speak. It was the first time since his father’s condemnation that anyone had expressed support instead of contempt or, in the case of his friends, pity. He hoped his expression of gratitude would suffice.

‘Now, about Hosnian Square’, Snoke prompted him, dragging his armchair closer to the table.

 

 

 

In the early afternoon, Mary came in with a lunch tray. Hux barely noticed her, engrossed in his explanation of the various piping systems he had designed for the future square. It took a reminder from Snoke for him to fall upon the food. He had not eaten since his sandwich the previous evening. He kept talking as he ate, worried that Snoke would lose interest if he stopped, even for a second. Snoke however proved an able listener, orienting Hux in directions he would not have dared to take, asking the right questions at the right time, and acquiescing to his every word with his soft, tight-lipped smile.

By the time Snoke suggested they adjourn for the day, the daylight had receded, and Hux rubbed his eyes, realizing suddenly that he could barely make out his writing anymore, and that his back ached from having spent hours leaning over the table.

‘This has been a most auspicious meeting, Armitage’, Snoke declared as Hux prepared to take his leave. ‘I have no doubt that you will achieve greatness, and I will readily support you in this endeavour. We shall discuss the matter further tomorrow.’

Hux nodded, not trusting his hoarse throat to issue another word. He gathered the plans haphazardly and left, casting one last look towards Snoke, who sat prone in the red and blue light of the stained-glass window, looking out at the grounds.

On his way out, Hux walked straight into Ren.

The young lord had obviously been waiting, either for him or for his turn to visit Snoke. Hux wondered idly how long Ren had been there, standing motionless behind the door. The window cast a reddish glow upon Ren’s face that reminded Hux of Snoke as he had just left him. But where Snoke carried his aristocratic features with effortless poise, Ren seemed to resent his own, with his morose expression and his hunched shoulders. It still seemed, even here among surroundings that should have put him at ease, that Ren was desperately trying to disappear.

‘I meant to see you before you met him’, Ren said. ‘To prepare you. I had led him to expect... There were things I thought you might say. To gain his approval.’

‘Well, I should think I did that perfectly well on my own’, Hux snapped, the slight undercurrent of panic in Ren’s voice raising his hackles. ‘It turns out I did not need your _preparation_.’

Ren’s look of surprise only served to fuel his irritation. Hux hoisted up his armful of badly-rolled plans and shoved past his host, determined to leave him with his misplaced doubts.

He came to regret this decision a few minutes later, when he rounded yet another unknown corner and realized that he was truly and utterly lost.

His pride won out. He did not turn back.

 

 

 

Hux was kept awake by an annoying draft. No matter how much he tossed and turned, the thin gust of air would find its way to his face. It slithered along his cheek and tickled his nose. He sneezed once, twice, and eventually threw off the covers and got to his feet.

He struck a match and lit the candle stub on the nightstand. The room came into view, from Hux’s trunk at the foot of the bed to the wardrobe by the chimney and the washstand in the corner. The eyes on the wall did not seem particularly alert, and Hux felt somewhat resentful at the idea that the wall itself had an easier time finding sleep.

He should have known that the blissful slumber he had enjoyed the night before had been a stroke of luck, engineered by the long journey and a streak of bad nights over the past few weeks. Now he was back to his usual, sleepless state, with little to distract himself but that persistent draft. He briefly considered untying the bed curtains, although he knew it would only make things worse. He had always found canopied beds oppressive. As a child, his nurse would invariably pull the curtains shut, and as he tried to find sleep, he would imagine all manners of stories. He was the son of a man who had not wanted any children. The man walled him up inside a windowless room. He was the sole survivor of a devastating plague, and the house beyond the curtains was ravaged and empty. The stifling quality of his childhood bed had not stemmed from a fear of the dark. What he feared was the loneliness. He would have welcomed a monster under his bed if it had brought an end to the choking silence.

He set off in search of the draft. First he inspected the windows, and then the chimney. Stepping back towards the bed, he turned this way and that, trying to recapture the cold waft of air across his skin. He froze.

The lower corner of the tapestry was moving. It was barely noticeable, the hem swaying up an inch and falling back against the wall. Hux took a few cautious steps, seized the drapery and pushed it aside. He expected a stone wall, maybe another gaudy wallpaper. Instead, he found himself in front of a door, the wooden frame cracked and the lock covered with thick white cobwebs.

It did not even occur to him to worry. In that moment, the door was not a disturbing discovery, but rather an entertaining riddle. He hoped that it would open, and that there would be something behind it. Wrapping his hand in his sleeve, he tore off as many cobwebs as he could, gradually revealing an ancient lock. The mechanism was visibly rusty, and Hux had to pull with all his might to unjam the lock. Eventually the bolt slid free, albeit with a nerve-grating creak. Getting the swollen wood to part from the frame then required some more pushing and pulling, which Hux submitted to with one foot braced against the wall. When the door swung open at last, it nearly knocked him off his feet. He quickly righted himself and leaned through the opening, wrinkling his nose at the musty smell.

A narrow corridor stretched out on the other side, running parallel with his room. Hux lifted the candle and glimpsed iron sconces in the wall, spaced at regular intervals. There was nothing in the corridor but dust. A few feet to his left, the passage took a right turn. Hux only spared time to put on his boots and wedge his trunk in the doorway to prevent the door from closing. He picked up his candlestick, and went in.

Despite his lanky figure, he had to walk sideways, taking care not to knock his head against the iron brackets. He could feel the rough surface of the wall scraping his back through the flimsy layer of his nightshirt. The corridor came to a steep staircase, leading to the floor above. Hux held onto the wall, and climbed.

He had no idea what was on the next floor. The servants' quarters, perhaps. The idea of barging in John's room in the middle of the night was not a particularly agreeable prospect. Then again, the flight of stairs seemed far too short to lead all the way to the third floor.

He spared a thought for the madman among Ren's ancestors who had decided to build such a house.

There was another corridor at the top of the staircase, running in the same direction as the first. Hux walked faster now, partly to reach the end of this labyrinth before his candle died out, and partly because there was only so much strangeness he could take, particularly in the middle of the night.

He rounded a bend. The candle illuminated a succession of doors. The final one, at the other end of the tunnel, was framed with a slim line of yellow light. Before Hux had had time to ponder his options, the door swung open without a sound.

Hux hesitated. Until then, he had been able to either rationalize or ignore most of the disturbing aspects of the house. A draft, after all, had to have a source - and a secret corridor was as suitable a source as any. Doors swinging open with no one on either side to turn the lock was another matter. The space beyond the door was pitch-black, indicating perhaps the back of some other tapestry, with only that same ray of light coursing around the frame.

Hux took a cautious step to the side. He would have made his way back to the staircase, had someone not spoken from inside the room.

'What do you want?'

Hux recognized the low pitch of Ren's voice. He couldn't be certain, but he thought Ren sounded mildly exasperated.

He crept along the wall towards the door, carefully set the candle down, and skimmed his fingers along the thick knots of the tapestry. He found the edge, and pushed the fabric aside.

The look of astonishment on Ren's face immediately made the entire experience worthwhile. Hux forgot that his shoulders and hair were covered in dust, and that he had just spent quite some time feeling his way along a wall with an uncomfortable sideways gait.

Ren was sitting in bed, a book in hand. He seemed unable at present to do anything else but stare at Hux unblinkingly. Hux remembered Ren's call, and wondered, fleetingly, who it was that Ren had expected to see. He brushed the thought aside.

'You might have given me a tour of the house', he remarked.

'You seem to have that covered', Ren answered drily.

Hux felt a gust of air on the back of his neck. He remembered the draft that had plagued him in his room. Had it followed him to Ren's? But this would indicate a certain degree of sentience... The draft would have had to shift its course willingly.

'You're shivering', Ren said, and at last he stopped looking like a fish out of water. Some of his customary aloofness crept back into his gaze, and the haughtiness returned to weigh upon his features. 'There is a robe on the back of the chair.'

Hux finally took in his surroundings. Ren's room was smaller than his own, bedecked in red draperies and furnished with an oaken set of furniture including a wardrobe, tables and chests, all of which had seen better days. The clothes Ren had worn during the day had been thrown haphazardly over a brocaded chair, along with what looked like a dressing robe, refined if slightly frayed. Hux picked it up, eyeing the pattern of maroon and purple diamonds with barely concealed distaste. It was the smell that decided him. Running candles and old books. For some reason, it felt comforting.

He tied the cord around his waist and turned to face Ren, who was still lounging against his pillows, one hand pressed flat against the open page of his book, as if he was trying to keep his eyes from drifting back to it.

Hux settled in the armchair. It was as worn-out as most of Ren's possessions, the velvet of the armrest raspy against his fingers, the threads of the embroidery hanging loose along the edge of the seat.

'What are you reading?', he asked.

'Oh.' For some reason, Ren had to ponder his answer. 'A treatise', he finally answered, and closed the book. 'I found it in the library.'

'There is a library?', Hux perked up.

'Of course', Ren said, raising a contemptuous eyebrow. Or perhaps he had not meant to be contemptuous. After all, he was the kind of person who tended to offend without really trying.

As the silence began to stretch, Hux watched with barely concealed fascination as Ren lost his composure. He began to fidget. He rapped his fingers against the cover of his book. Obviously, Ren was used to maintaining an unnerving silence in tense situations, and he had probably never met someone able to outdo him in terms of sheer pig-headedness. Not until Hux, that was. 

'Do you want to see it?', Ren asked.

'What? The library?'

'Yes.'

'Now?'

Ren shrugged. 'Why not?'

Hux felt an involuntary smile rise to his lips.

 

 

 

When he stopped in the doorway, expecting Ren to go past, he was surprised to feel Ren's hand settle at the back of his head, long fingers combing through his dishevelled hair, dislodging the dust from the old passageway.

Hux opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He allowed himself to close his eyes and lean into the touch, just for a moment. He told himself that this was merely a way to relieve the tension of the past few months. Slowly, he felt it dissolve under Ren's soothing touch.

He ignored the part of him that had been starving for it, ever since that first glimpse of Ren at the ball - for these long fingers in his hair, for the harsh quickening of Ren's breath against the back of his neck. Airy touches, which seemed to prove that Ren was a living creature, and not merely the ghost of an old house.

 

 

 

Based upon what he had seen of the house so far, Hux expected the library to be awe-inspiring, or at the very least disorienting - another labyrinth, where the nooks and crannies hid the most incongruous family trinkets alongside valuable relics of the country's past.

He was to be disappointed. The library was narrow, dark and dank, with three or four shelves set one behind the other, reaching up to the ceiling. The higher levels on the shelves could be accessed by way of a ladder that led to a rickety walkway, halfway up the wall. A more thorough inspection revealed that what Hux had deemed a ‘walkway’ was in fact nothing more than floorboards hammered into the edge of the shelves, providing a precarious foothold. Hux resolved there and then that the books on the lower shelves would do just fine.

'The servants will not come in here', Ren said.

'Why?'

Ren huffed. 'Misguided superstition.'

He lifted his candlestick over their heads. The flickering flame shed light on the nearest shelf, revealing golden letters and thick, leathery spines. _Diseases of the Heart_ , Hux read. _Robert Smythe's Book of Common Ailments. Arnolfius van Horn's Lessons on Anatomy._

'Do you have any books about architecture and construction?', he asked. 'I find illustrated carpentry handbooks to be particularly interesting.' Seeing Ren's puzzled expression, he looked away, feeling the colour rise to his cheeks. 'If you have that', he finished, lamely.

'Well. Maybe. I don't know.' Ren looked around as if he expected to find some sort of sign pointing him towards the right shelf. 'Let me have a look.'

He disappeared behind the bookshelf, the sound of his steps receding as he wandered off down the aisle.

Hux reached for one of the medical treatises and flipped idly through it, trying to weather the cloud of dust the book had dislodged from the shelf. A combination of the floating dust and of the gruesome depiction of an infected eye made him snap the book shut. He sneezed. A book fell.

Hux stared at the fallen volume, confused, thinking at first that his sneezing had somehow caused it to topple down. Then he took a few steps back to look around the shelf and see if Ren was there, rummaging on the other side. But the aisle was empty.

Another look at the derelict state of the room and at the tottering shelves was enough to convince him that the book had, indeed, fallen by itself. It must have been a daily occurrence in this library, and it had only been his luck that the volume had fallen a foot away from him, and not on his head.

He picked it up. It was slim and small, and fit easily in the palm of his hand. The cover bore no title. He stepped towards one of the windows and turned a few pages in the moonlight. The book was handwritten, and illustrated. The ink had faded, and the slanted script was barely legible, but it mattered little, since the book did not seem to be written in any language that Hux recognized. He thought he saw drawings of machines, and what might have been birds, sketched in the margins. Intrigued by the machines, he flipped back to the beginning. A page inside the cover came loose – a folded piece of paper. His curiosity piqued, he unfolded the page and smoothed it out with his hand.

 _Dear Anakin_ , he read. _In the hope that this letter finds you well, I am enclosing a small volume I thought you might enjoy. I copied it myself from a much lengthier manuscript, handpicking the fifteen or so pages that reminded me of you. It will appear as a riddle at first, however I have no doubt you will solve it in time. I could not be further from Skywalk, here in the loud belly of the city. More often than not the air is so rife with –_

‘What have you found?’

Hux raised his head from the letter to find Ren at the other end of the aisle. Ren was not smiling, exactly, but he seemed amused at Hux’s expense. He was carrying a small pile of books.

‘Do you know an... Anakin?’, Hux asked, lifting the letter slightly.

The candlestick in Ren’s hand wavered. He stared at Hux with wide eyes, livid, and then his face closed down, his mobile features settling into a stern and cold expression. Hux thought of a clogged mechanism, its blocked gears trying to turn. Eventually the mechanism would be unable to withstand the pressure and it would explode, raining pieces everywhere. A complex system coming undone in a resentful puff of smoke.

‘Where did you find this?’, Ren asked, his harsh voice tugging viciously at Hux’s insides. Ren’s anger might even have been stimulating if it had not appeared out of nowhere. Hux looked down at the letter.

'It was in the...'

He stopped short as Ren threw his books aside. Stuffing the candlestick on a shelf, he strode over to Hux, a murderous gleam in his eyes. He tore the letter from Hux's fingers, caught sight of the book and confiscated it as well. He held both items to his heaving chest. Hux thought of a child, refusing to share his favourite toy.

'There is no need to be so particular about it', he declared, a little sententiously. 'I...'

'Did Snoke ask you to get this?', Ren asked, his suspicious face hovering an inch away from Hux's nose. 'Did someone else tell you to gain my trust so you could...'

'You are being ridiculous', Hux enunciated slowly.

Ren's brows furrowed and Hux, seeing the brewing storm extend from the downward slant of his large mouth to the empty void of his eyes, was quite certain, if only briefly, that Ren would hit him.

'You are not to set foot in this library again.’ The force of this demeaning order was somewhat lessened by the way Ren’s words slipped from his lips into Hux's mouth, their breaths mingling.

Ren must have sensed this course of action would yield no results, as he took a step back, and seemed to collect his thoughts.

'Gather your belongings', he declared. I will have John drive you into town tomorrow.'

'This is ridiculous', Hux repeated, at which point Ren seized him bodily by the elbow, and all but dragged him to the door of the library, which he slammed in his face.

Hux stared at the door, incredulous. Gradually, his puzzlement gave way to simmering anger. When it became clear that Ren's tantrum was not about to subside, he turned on his heel, and set off in search of the main staircase, feeling his way along the walls of yet another dark corridor, riddled with harmful table corners and the unpredictable border of heavy rugs.

 

 

 

He kicked the door closed, and snarled a bit at the wallpaper for good measure. At any rate, he _thought_ he was addressing the wallpaper. The room was pitch-black at this point. The only feature he could easily locate was the hidden door, with its waft of air, cold and stale - and even then, he managed to trip over his trunk in his attempt to close it. When he finally retreated to his bed, having thrown Ren’s dressing gown to the floor, he was fuming, and reasonably sure he would not get any sleep.

Hux might have excused Ren's standoffish behaviour. It came as a result of having been raised in a house that shifted and groaned and strained against the wind, with a handful of grim servants and an old man for company. But he would not accept the nobleman's stunted character growth. Not when it might endanger his brilliant scheme.

All of this about some old letter he had found completely by accident, in a book that had fallen off a shelf at an inopportune time.

Hux wondered if he might still avoid being sent away. Hopefully Lord Snoke would not stand for it. After all, he had been extremely supportive of Hux's plan, to the extent that he had immediately shared the detail of his properties in Hosnian Square, as well as the name and occupation of the tenants. He had even suggested the means by which some of them might be persuaded to leave. Besides, Lord Snoke was dead-set against the Resistance, and more than willing to inconvenience them. General Organa must have wronged him somehow. Hux was not about to ask Snoke about it. As long as Snoke carried his proposal forward, the old aristocrat was welcome to keep his secrets.

Hux froze in the process of rearranging his pillow. The door to his room had let out a sustained, screeching sound. He looked towards the doorway, but there was nothing to be seen there, aside from an impenetrable wall of darkness.

‘Hux?’

Hux let out a relieved sigh, releasing his tense grip on the pillow. Of course, it was Ren.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’, he hissed, sitting bolt upright and trying to locate Ren in the room. He could hear him moving, faintly, and it only added to his irritation that Ren did not seem to bump into the furniture or trip over the rugs.

‘I wanted to...’, Ren began. Hux barely gave himself time to register the apologetic tone before he lashed out, his voice still shrill with fear.

‘Do you have night vision as well? Aside from being a lunatic, and an incredibly rude host?’ Now that he had started, it seemed absurd to stop. ‘Who would leave their guest to wander for the better part of a day, and not give them any sort of explanation regarding the _master of the house_?’

‘I am the master of the house’, Ren said, his voice surprisingly near. ‘This is my house. Snoke is... Snoke was my guardian. And I did mean to give you a tour of the house this morning. I tend to keep unreasonable hours, and as a result I am... Disoriented. In the morning. About the book. I want to apologize.’

'Could this not have waited until morning?', Hux asked, purely out of pettiness.

'No', Ren said. Hux felt the bed dip under his weight.

'Tell me the truth. Do you navigate by sight or does it have something to do with sound - vibrations - bats have such abilities, don't they...'

'I just happen to know this room well', Ren muttered. 'I used to come here at night, a long time ago. I tried to be discrete.'

'Why?', Hux asked – an offer of reconciliation, the word open and curious as if to say, should you answer this question honestly, all will be forgiven.

'I would rather not talk about this at present.' Ren's hand settled hesitantly on Hux's leg.

Hux had meant, rather desperately, to remain angry. The pervasive strangeness of the house, the never-ending beat of the rain on the high windows and Ren's contradictory behaviour had contributed to thoroughly eroding his composure. He wanted nothing more than to take advantage of the dark, and to let his every frustration fly at Ren, no matter how hysterical that made him sound.

Holding a grudge was difficult, however, with Ren radiating regret and desire, his thumb stroking the inside of Hux's knee as his body settled heavy and warm across his legs. Like an enormous cat, selfish and demanding. Eventually Hux surrendered and reached down to stroke Ren's hair, feeling him sigh contentedly against his thigh.

'For the record, I am still angry', Hux said, fingers sliding towards the nape of Ren's neck, his palm curving around a broad shoulder. Feeling the muscles tense reflexively under his touch, he let his hand roam as far down as it would go, following the curve of Ren's spine. He wondered if Ren was naked, if he had walked about the castle barefoot. Though he tried to picture it, and to undress Ren in his mind, it proved impossible. The hard lines under his hand composed at best a partial picture, to which his imagination refused to contribute anything but the half-remembered limbs of marble statues.

'You know, I used to dream about this', he said. He had noticed a long time ago that confessions were easily made in dark surroundings, especially when they pertained to unavowed desires. 'A noble begging for my forgiveness. Or simply eager to obey my orders.' His hand crept back towards Ren's neck. He gripped a fistful of hair and gave a sharp tug. 'They would put young men like you under my orders. I was supposed to give them "simple tasks". Aristocratic brats who had displeased their fathers and found themselves stationed in the fort for a year or two. To drive the madness out of them.'

'They rebelled against you?'

'That sense of entitlement...', Hux muttered.

He was not about to tell Ren that his hair drove him to distraction, the thickness of it and how soft it felt between his fingers. Instead, he pulled harder, until Ren understood and crawled up on his elbows, his forehead coming to rest against Hux's collarbone.

'Give me an order, then, and it shall be obeyed', he said.

Hux could not repress a shudder. It felt like an offering of strength, although he felt completely at Ren's mercy, subdued by the large hands that stroked his sides and by the strong thighs bracketing his hips, enticed with the promising warmth of Ren's cock, hard and leaking against his leg.

'You really did come here naked', Hux exclaimed suddenly. 'Is this something you are fond of doing? Walking around the house at night, terrorising the servants, taking in the moonlight?'

'You are ruining the moment', Ren grumbled.

A fierce smile curved upon Hux's lips. He had been setting Ren up for such a fall, trying to draw out the part of him that could sound sheepish and confused. That incarnation of Ren was infinitely more manageable than the frightening creature that had crept inside his bed, trapping him under a moving mass of steely muscle with the inexorable stealth of a beast of prey.

'Where were we?', he asked. 'Yes, I remember. You wanted orders.' He framed Ren’s face in his hands, lowered his mouth towards his ear. ‘Make me feel that you are real’, he whispered. ‘That I didn’t dream you up, that you won’t disappear in a puff of smoke the moment I fall asleep.’

Out of the blue, Ren asked, ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

 

 

 

He did obey Hux’s demands after that, dropping his head down in Hux’s lap, sucking and biting at the skin of his inner thighs until every nerve in Hux’s body was thrumming, and every thought in his head had been obliterated by the burning ache between his legs. His hands returned to the back of Ren’s head, seeking to impose a rhythm by way of pulling his hair, but his fingers soon became hopelessly entangled. After a few fruitless attempts at reclaiming his hands, he gave up and surrendered to Ren's ministrations.

Later, as he lay in bed and Ren slept by his side, Hux thought once again of cobwebs, woven into a fragile crown, or into some architectural folly, like a silk cathedral that would have built over time atop Ren’s dark head.

Later still, he who rarely ever dreamt had a dream of the house, of the dark bends of its corridors and of the shadows cast by its untidy furniture. Hux was trying to escape from the darkness, feeling it come closer with each draft, the air around him like the steady breathing of the house. He found his way by following the most fragile of threads, which he suspected was a strand of Ren’s hair.

 

 

 

‘Of course I don’t believe in ghosts’, Hux scoffed, so focused on the absurdity of the question that it did not occur to him to wonder why it had been asked.

 

 

 

He awoke to the steady beat of the rain on the windowsills. The bed at his side was empty, and the room was cold. As Hux rolled over, his hand connected with a hard object at the edge of the mattress. He reached for the book, still half-asleep, gave it a cursory look and shook it slightly. Ren had removed the letter, of course.

He stuffed it under his pillow, turned away from the rain, and went back to sleep.


	3. Where it rains

‘If you cannot impress the urgency of this project upon your tenants, why not resort to a little exaggeration?’

Hux lifted his eyes from the plan he had been studying with Lord Snoke. They had dragged the cluttered table closer to Snoke’s armchair, and if Hux raised his head too fast, his nose would collide with Snoke’s forehead. The old man had an odd smell about him, a smell of things burnt and burning, the lingering hint that a fire had started, and might still be on-going.

‘Are you suggesting I tell the tenants that the houses could collapse?’, Hux asked. ‘That there is an immediate hazard?’

‘If you can support it with adequate proof’, Snoke said. There was something decidedly chilling about the casual way in which he approached the question. ‘Let a few rafters collapse. Flood a basement. Should this prove too difficult to carry out, there could be other solutions. You might discover that there are existing hazards that you can exploit. I read this article in the paper – I have it brought in from the city, once a week... There it is. About the effects of lead poisoning, in a boarding-house, not in a factory...’

Hux accepted the folded newspaper, and had a look at the article that Snoke was pointing at with a gnarled finger. The article dealt, in a sensationalist fashion, with the decline in health of three young children, who had taken residency with their family in a decaying boarding-house. Hux did not read the entire piece, scanning it instead, taking in ominous statements here and there. _They were so often asleep, sometimes I thought they were dead_ , a quote from the mother read. The journalist concluded with a flourish: _Death might have been kinder than the fate of these poor children, whose intellectual and physical faculties will be forever altered for having followed this sweet trail of poisoned dust._

‘I don’t even know that lead was used, or that the walls were painted in any of the houses around the square’, Hux said, setting down the newspaper.

‘Is there anything easier than introducing poison inside a household?’, Snoke smiled. ‘Even in this house, potential poisons abound.’

Hux had to withhold a snort. He refrained from remarking that this was _exactly_ the kind of house where he would expect to find poison, which would not be the case with most of the houses around Hosnian Square.

‘Rat poison, of course’, Snoke went on, forehead creasing as he caught Hux’s poor attempt at keeping a straight face. ‘You could obtain poisoned bait from the gamekeeper’s hut. Beyond the obvious, our very own Mary has proven most adept at cultivating a variety of deadly plants in her garden. I would strongly recommend you take a walk there, perhaps when the rain has abated. She grows a striking variety of foxgloves, aubergine purple. I believe the garden also yields a certain type of monkshood, pale blue... And snakeroot, should you wish to draw suspicion away, and poison the milk of cattle, rather than pouring your crushed powder straight in your victim's wine glass... Although it is quite likely none of these will have come out just yet. Autumn plants, then... Fragile and flimsy little meadow saffron, in the field behind the house. It will induce a severe fever. Retching. Eventually, it will overcome all organs in the body. And last week alone, John brought me death caps that he found under the great oaks, north of the park. Half a cap would do the trick. In a dish of sautéed mushrooms, or as a thin powder in a cup of tea...' Snoke let out a mighty sniff, his rheumy eyes drifting towards the white and gold coffers above his head. 'Kylo does love his tea', he said.

There was a heavy silence.

'Does he', Hux said, his eyes fixed upon the plan before him, although he would have been hard-pressed to say what he was looking at.

'Oh, he does', Snoke nodded. 'Well, if you would excuse me. I believe I have a few letters to write on your behalf.'

Hux found himself outside the room, uncertain what exactly had just happened, and whether or not Snoke had suggested he should poison Ren.

 

 

 

When Hux asked after Ren in the kitchen, he was told by the younger Mary that the young lord had left early, allegedly to make a round of his tenants in the nearest village, situated some twenty miles south along the coast.

Hux had not yet decided what to make of Snoke's poison elegy. Perhaps Snoke wanted the domain for himself, without the burden of Ren's sulking presence. Despite Ren's rising star in the capital, it was possible that Snoke had found another way to improve his fortunes.

Hux found himself forming the beginning of a scheme. He could not deny that there was something appealing about Snoke's lack of scruples. Not merely appealing - refreshing. Hux had seen his resolve be gradually eaten away by the arrogance of noblemen and politicians, and he had had to compromise and bow and snivel so often that Snoke's outright offer of immoral mayhem held some sway over his disgruntled ambitions. How gratifying it could be, to terrorize the residents of the square, to go off to war against the General's conservation group, to poison Snoke's ward and assume his place as Snoke's protégé, scheming for a take-over of the shape and structure of the capital, imposing his grand vision of an orderly city upon that disgusting, broken-down mess of a town.

 

 

 

Hux stepped outside, thinking he would walk down to the wall at the back of the gardens, and inspect its structure.

Naturally, it was raining. A steady cold drizzle, like the ceaseless assault of merciless little needles upon his head and shoulders. He lamented his lack of a hat - he used to own one, once, but he had lost this insignia of his martial standing sometime after the end of the war. He had forgotten to retrieve it after a tense meeting with a potential investor.

As the rain turned his well-groomed hair into dripping rust, he wondered what had happened to that hat - had the nobleman thrown it away, or did it now sit atop the head of some servant, hammered out of shape by a strong and careless hand?

He huddled deeper inside his greatcoat, the one relic that he'd salvaged from his military days. The greatcoat had belonged to the Commandant, and though the heavy woollen outfit had been stripped clean, with only a lighter band of black to indicate where the stripes had been, Hux liked to think that it retained some of its prestige.

He thought back to the previous night, to the warmth of the thick counterpoint and the softness of Ren's hair brushing against his thighs. Ren's filthy mouth and his shameless smile - the hypnotic pull of his dark eyes. He had licked Hux's semen from his lips, with a slow drag of his tongue and an audible swallow.

That memory of Ren, looking like some creature Hux might have summoned from a black river at night, merged with his earlier discussion with Snoke, and with a vision of the cream-coloured room with its moth-eaten draperies and its maze of copper instruments on dusty velvet stands. Hux shook his head to dislodge water from his nose and lips. He tried to picture himself slipping powder into Ren's tea. For some reason the scene took place in the library, on a rickety table by one of the tall windows, and the Hux in the vision kept looking over his shoulder, expecting someone to walk in on him - Ren, or a more sinister presence, with wallpaper eyes and invisible hands.

But then again maybe no one would walk in, and Ren would sip the tea without thinking twice. Death in a teacup. Hux would win the support and influence that he'd longed for.

On the other hand, he would stand to lose something as well.

He circled the grey pond with its chipped stonework. The surface of the water held firm under the assault of the rain, as if the years had turned the stagnant contents of the pond into a near-solid mass of gelatinous muck. The long strips of dark algae under the surface seemed to have reached the end of a process of fossilisation.

Should Ren disappear, he would miss a strange, slippery ally. An unreliable lay, with the strength of a full-grown bear and the graceless gait of a shambling cub.

He leaned towards the dark green water. The reflection he saw did not look like him, save perhaps for the reddish halo of hair surrounding the waxy contours of a sunken face.

Hux knew of people in the capital who had tried, out of boredom or madness or both, to summon spirits and converse with them. The old duchess was famous for her séances. Hux had never attended any of them. Granted, he had never been invited. But he doubted he would have enjoyed it, as he took pride in his utter lack of beliefs.

Yet, as he gazed into the mossy depths of the pond, he caught what he thought was a glimpse of his future, some repellent omen of death. He took a step back, stuffing his hands under his armpits. He told himself that the relentless chills were a result of the rain, and not of some primal fear.

When he reached the wall that marked the end of the park, he found the same gardener that he'd seen from the window the previous day, walking along the tumbled down structure, his gaunt hands pushing an empty wheelbarrow. Hux noticed that the ground under the man’s feet had turned into a water-filled trench, at least as deep as his ankles. He was reminded of a clock he had seen, once, in a fellow engineer’s house. The clock had been shaped like a bell-tower, and every hour, a small figure came out, rang the bell, and followed along a rail to a door on the other side of the tower. Hux would not have been surprised if there had been a rail hidden inside the trench, leading the gardener round and round the wall.

‘This is a ha-ha, isn’t?’, Hux tried, not really expecting an answer.  
  
He leaned over the wall. There was a drop on the other side, about five feet high.

‘That’s what I thought’, he said. ‘This wall was not meant to be seen, originally.’ He had to shout to be heard through the rain. Even then, he couldn’t be sure that the man was listening to him. Hux kicked a few broken stones, scattered around the leprous wall. ‘I would be in favour of a consolidation of the structure’, he went on anyways.

The gardener rounded the wall, dropping the wheelbarrow with a resounding thud on the other side and bracing a wizened hand against one of the wobbly stones in order to jump down behind it. The gesture must have cost him – he appeared to have some difficulty to fold his knees, and once he had jumped, he stood with his head down and his hands on his thighs, his harsh breathing audible even with the parasitic hiss of the rain. Hux gave up on his attempts to initiate some sort of discussion, and let the man go on with his inane task.

He turned towards the house, blinking against the rain. He was facing the north façade, a ponderous mass of yellow stone. The projecting lines of the cornices seemed to be leaking fire, rust-coloured smears that ran down the façade and echoed the decaying appearance of the statues placed high upon the walls. There was no telling what these battered brown figures were supposed to represent, and Hux doubted it was because of the rain. The façade might even turn out to look worse in the sun. At least the rain gave it a certain raw beauty, like an impregnable fort or a windswept castle - the awe-inspiring spell cast by any building that had resisted nature against all odds, emerging diminished but still proud from a seemingly hopeless battle.

Hux decided, then and there, that he liked this preposterous house, even though it went against his aesthetic sensibilities. Nothing about the building should have appealed to him, from the decorative excess of the façade, to the irregular disposition of the windows and chimneys. Skywalk defied all logic, but assaulted the eye. Hux loved order, and there was no order there, only a tottering pile that seemed to taunt him with several floors’ worth of perennial idiosyncrasies.

For all that Hux raged against nobility and its wilting glory, he could not help but admire the way it had endured. The contorted monster of the aristocracy found a reflection its ancestral seats, and though Hux would have given anything to be able to tear Skywalk down stone by stone, and replace it with the sharp, functional lines of a new order, he would also have handed away his soul for the right to belong in such a house, to be granted the privilege to age under its groaning roofs, his bones realigning to follow the stress and strain imposed upon the long-suffering walls.

He wiped rain from his eyes and tried to locate his window in the façade. He estimated the angle of the view from the room, counted panes and floors and half-floors. When he had found what he thought was the right one, he squinted, puzzled. Through the curtain of rain and the thick panes of glass, he thought he could see a silhouette standing at the window, looking out.

If there was indeed someone, it might simply be Mary, tidying the room in his absence. Besides, from this distance, the rain might simply be playing tricks on him.

He turned away, teeth chattering against another onslaught of chills. He ignored the part of his mind that pointed out, unhelpfully, that he had only been able to make out the figure because it stood out starkly against the surrounding darkness of the room, its face white and gleaming.

‘Beware of the bones’, he heard, and he whipped to the right and looked down, where the gardener was completing his slow circuit around the wall.

‘What did you say?’, he asked, and promptly sneezed inside his cupped hands, shoulders shivering violently beneath the soaked wool of the greatcoat. He must have heard the man wrong.

The gardener’s wheelbarrow slowed and stopped. He turned towards Hux, his cracked lips barely visible beneath the dripping brim of a shapeless hat.

‘Beware of the bones’, he repeated, and he resumed his perplexing trajectory, shoulders hunched against the rain.

After the wall came a field, which Hux crossed as he would have crossed a shallow river. He remembered a foreign field, and the deafening sound of a cannon blast. It had sent him to the ground, clutching a broken sword to his chest, and as he crawled with mud up his nose and blood in his mouth, all he could think was, _I am an engineer, these hands were made to build bridges and walls, not to stab or crawl, not to clutch the cutting edge of a broken blade._

He came to end of the field and passed a line of trees. There he stopped, looking out at the endless spread of the moors. The soft curves of yellow hills fell away, tumbling into unfathomable dips before they rose again, ashen-grey and thatch-brown, a placid sea that stretched all the way to the big white clouds on the horizon. Hux stepped away from the trees, leaving behind the slippery grass of the park and the crumbling soil of the fallow field, stepping into a world of coarse bracken and blooming gorse, of prickly heather bushes that reached up to his knees and concealed, treacherous water holes.

Hux did not particularly like the outdoors. A long walk in the moor was not his idea of a day well spent. However, after the first few steps, he noticed an important detail – the rain had relented. Closing his eyes, he issued a wordless prayer of thanks.

After about half a mile, the sun came up, painting the clouds a buttery yellow and shining down upon the tight clusters of gorse flowers. Hux took off his coat and spread it across the heather to dry. He found a suitable boulder and sat against it, feeling as if his bones were hollow and filled with water.

If he looked over his right shoulder and back towards Skywalk, he could still see dark grey clouds massed above the domain, as if Ren’s house had offended some vengeful deity, and obtained in return its own personal little storm.

After a while, Hux realized that he had left more than the rain back at the domain. The nerve-wracking restlessness that had plagued him since the ceasefire was gone. For a time, he spied upon his surroundings, half-expecting his anxiety to burst through one of the gorse bushes and jump at his throat. When he was certain that there was nothing around him but the whining wind, he sank back against the boulder, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

 

 

 

He dreamt that he was resting in a nest of bracken, the fronds meeting above his head and hiding the stormy sky. Every so often, a droplet would reach the end of a leaf and fall down upon his face, like a cold hand brushing his cheek, warning him not to fall asleep. And at length this watery touch ceased being water and truly became fingers, light but insistent. They moved down from his face to his collar, and there they tugged and shook the fabric until Hux was fully awake, and ready to follow.

The next thing he knew, he was in the library at Skywalk, sitting by a window with a silver tea set before him. He was not alone.

The lady sat on the other side of the small table, draped in a white shawl made of lace so frail and fine it looked like a spider’s web. She was dark-haired, with large brown eyes and features daunting in their symmetry. Hux could do nothing but stare, at the long elegant line of her dark eyebrows, at the soft angle of her jaw. He caught his ever-rational self wondering how his mind could have conjured up such a creature. He knew he had never seen her before, although there was something vaguely familiar about her features. He couldn’t quite place it. It could have been her eyes, sorrowful but stern – or the delicate outline of her full mouth, which he could have sworn he had traced, once, with the pad of his thumb.

The thought was preposterous. He would never have dared touch her. He would not even draw his chair closer to the table, and lean over the poisoned tea. Her remoteness did not stem only from her regal bearing. She seemed to belong to a different place or to a different time. Had he extended his hand, he would have brushed aside years and miles, tumbling forwards or backwards towards her, wherever she was.

‘I never dream’, he told her. His voice sounded irritating even to his own ears, insolent and whiny. ‘Do you know where Ren is?’, he tried again, and blinked in surprise. That was not what he had meant to ask. Wherever Ren was, he couldn’t have cared less. Let that changeable fool wander wherever he liked...

He jumped back, biting back a cry. The dark-haired beauty had knocked over a teacup, the scalding liquid spilling over his hand. The pain was instantaneous and very real, sending tremors up his arm as he tried, vainly, to shake off both the resounding ache and the remaining drops of tea.

The young lady had barely moved, aside from extending her slim fingers to flip over the cup. She was still watching him with that unnerving gaze. Hux had the disturbing impression that she had taken the measure of him, and that she had found him wanting.

‘I don’t believe in ghosts’, Hux proclaimed loudly. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts, and I don’t believe in dreams.’

   
  
  


 

'I wish I had that luxury', Ren said.

 

  
  
 

Hux awoke with a start, his head cracking against the boulder. His first instinct was to check his hand. Unsurprisingly, it bore no traces of a burn. The rainclouds had drifted over the moors, and his hair and trousers were once again soaked and in the process of getting even wetter, if such a thing was even possible.

Ren stood not two feet away, glowering down at him like yet another miniature storm.

'You reappeared', Hux noted coldly. He pulled himself up, grimacing at the ache that had settled deep inside his bones. He felt ancient, that he should be so easily broken by the rain, though his hatred of it was juvenile in its reckless intensity.

'I had to leave', Ren said. 'I did not want to.' There was barely a trace of arrogance in his voice. In fact, he sounded quite civil.

'Well, I had to leave as well', Hux declared. Ren was wearing a hat, he noted. He let the bitterness show in his face. A pointed look of moor-green eyes. A twist of the lips, made easy by the strange musty flavour of the rain on his tongue. ‘Now if you will excuse me’, he said, casting about for his coat, ‘I would require another moment alone with my thoughts.’

Ren extended a long arm across the heather to retrieve the greatcoat. He shook it once and then presented it, wide open, for Hux to slip into. Hux considered stalking off towards the moors, disdaining the coat entirely. He was already beyond drenched anyways. But something held him back – it might have been that he knew, if only distantly, that his petulance had more to do with Ren’s absence that morning than with his untimely reappearance.

He turned his back on Ren’s haunted features, and held out an arm. Ren helped him inside the coat, sliding the sleeves up his arms and adjusting the collar, smoothing the damp fabric over Hux’s shoulders. Ren’s hand strayed upwards, gloved fingers combing through Hux’s hair, flattening the wet strands under a heavy palm. Hux shivered and Ren’s hand stilled, his knuckles curled up under Hux’s jaw, where his pulse was jumping erratically, as if something inside him was trying to break through his skin, seeking Ren's touch. He indulged this mad instinct for the briefest of moments, teeth grazing the leather of Ren’s glove, before he shook himself and stepped away. He had been entertaining thoughts of poisoning the man only hours before, and now he was rubbing his face against a wet glove, like a dog begging for his master’s attention.

'You should come back inside', Ren suggested. He did not try to sound convincing. He was staring at the shifting shadows of the clouds across the moorlands, and Hux got the distinct impression that Ren did not want to go back anymore than he did.

'I might outrun the clouds if I keep walking north', Hux said.

'You will not outrun the rain', Ren replied, with a great shrug that very nearly made Hux smile. Trust the man to act as if the weight of the heavenly vault was upon his shoulders, the whole cosmic disorder of it, with its gods and its storms and its constellations.

'You underestimate me’, he said. ‘I walk fast.'

'I don't doubt it.' Ren smiled at that, the upward slant of his lips at odds with his otherwise dejected expression. ‘Skywalk attracts the rain like the house draws the spider and the light spawns the dust. You would have to walk far, rather than fast.’

‘I will, then!’

Hux was well aware of how childish he sounded. He blamed it, at least in part, on Ren’s own behaviour, that disturbing mixture of solemn composure and disoriented anger. Besides, Hux would never have behaved so peevishly had they been in the city. This mopping weather was starting to get to him.

‘I will walk with you’, Ren offered.

He followed when Hux set off at a hurried pace. After a few long strides, Hux remembered that Ren’s legs were just as long if not longer than his own, and he gave up on any thought he might have had of distancing him. He chose instead to walk in the middle of the narrow path, thus forcing Ren to either fall back, or walk to the side of the path, among the harsh tangle of heather and gorse.

Ren settled for the latter. This forced him to walk in a rather ridiculous fashion, lifting one long leg after the other to step over the bushes. He looked like a very tall grasshopper.

‘We did not have much occasion to talk’, Ren said. ‘I do not mean... This morning, or last night. Since we met, we did not have much occasion to talk.’

‘I beg to differ’, Hux said, stepping over a puddle. ‘We had occasions aplenty. But we elected to fuck rather than talk.’

Ren fell silent, and for a time the only sound aside from the drumming rain was the squelching of his boots, as they sank into the muddy flora of the heaths.

‘How did you know?’, he asked, eventually. ‘How could you tell that I was drawn to you, when we met at the ball?’

‘Are we talking now, then?’, Hux huffed. ‘Fine, then. Have you ever been told how easy you are to read? Granted, at times you seem to wear a mask, like most of your peers. But it falls away quite often, and then your features are like an open book, and I just have to lick my finger and flip the page.’

‘I was afraid of you’, Ren said. ‘You walked in there like a battalion assaulting a fort. I could tell your courtesy was fake. I didn’t mind. I wanted you to lay a trap for me. I am not used to wanting... Living things.’

Hux tactfully chose to ignore that statement, which could either be interpreted as disturbing, or downright sordid.

‘Why would you bring me here?’, he shot back. ‘Was it so Lord Snoke could contribute to my project, so I could help him defeat General Organa’s committee?’

‘I did mean to help you. I am certain you will find my grandfather’s designs quite suitable for your renovation of the square. He was very... committed, to the idea of a new order of architecture. He believed our environment should reflect the principles that guide our lives, and accordingly, he devised a sober architectural system... I mean, it is all very elaborate and surely I can’t do him justice if I just... I will show you. It was his life’s work.’

‘This is all well and good’, Hux said. He had little hope that a rotting pile of out-dated designs would contribute in any meaningful way to his plans for Hosnian Square. ‘It doesn’t explain why Lord Snoke would send you to fetch him... A companion? A partner? Unless you knew you would find me at the ball, and this was all some elaborate scheme...’

‘No’, Ren said. ‘I didn’t know. Snoke sent me...’

He drew in a long breath. Hux slowed down, and positioned himself in Ren’s field of vision, adopting the authoritative glare that had ensured his survival during the war, as everyone around him slowly surrendered to the brewing insanity of a prolonged siege.

‘Snoke wanted’, Ren tried again. ‘He told me to return with a young body, and an innocent soul.’

Hux’s lips quirked.  
  
‘What?’, he said, in soft disbelief, and then, louder, with considerable mirth, ‘come again?’  
  
‘A young body, and an innocent soul’, Ren repeated diligently.

Hux laughed out loud, throat bared to the cold rain.

‘I can’t decide what’s funnier. That anyone would believe me to be innocent, or that a person could make such a request, and be obeyed.’

‘It is not as sinister as it sounds’, Ren said vaguely. ‘He does not consume their hearts, or anything of the sort.’

‘Consume their hearts’, Hux repeated, and resumed laughing, tripping over his own feet. ‘Really, is this the first thing on your mind? Are you living in some folktale of your own making? Tell me, how would he eat those hearts? Would he ask Mary to cook them on the stove? Would he salt them and store them, and cut out a bite as he consults a cadastral map?’

‘I merely meant... That I am conscious of how odd this request might sound’, Ren tried again, with an undercurrent of exasperation.

‘Odd is mild for how incredibly _absurd_ it sounds’, Hux laughed.

Despite Ren’s serious expression, he could see that the laughter was about to contaminate him. It was in the corners of his mouth; it sent a ripple across his cheek. His eyes were no longer dark but rather bright and fond, the deep brown of the irises shot through with golden light.

‘An innocent soul’, Hux repeated. ‘Cannibalism was the farthest thing from my mind. I suspect Lord Snoke intended for you to bring him back a fresh young lover, and instead, you came home with... Me. I can’t even begin to imagine his disappointment.’ He brushed away a few tears, mingled with raindrops. ‘How could you think this would work?’

‘I thought, perhaps, if I warned you’, Ren began, but stopped short when Hux’s laughter began anew, a mad, high-pitched cackle that caused him to double over, holding his sides with quivering hands.

‘Enough’, Hux managed to choke at last, and righting himself, he stepped back onto the path, turning his back to the open heath. ‘I think I have had enough of this nonsense for just one day. And enough of this rain, too. There better be a warm bath waiting for me in that mad house of yours.’

Ren gave him a considering look. ‘This can be arranged’, he said.

 

 

   
  


‘I came looking for you for a reason’, Ren said, as they walked back up the lawn, towards the crooked ogive of the back door.

By then, Hux had given up on pretending he could not feel the cold, and he had huddled against Ren’s side, letting him drape an arm around his shoulders. He no longer minded the rain so much, because it combined with the weight over his shoulders and the soaked sleeve of Ren’s coat to remind him of the moist air between their mouths, back in that little library with the high ceiling and the dark wooden shelves. He recalled the dampness of the sheets as his back arched off the bed, his fingers scrabbling against the headboard, and the wet engulfing warmth of Ren’s mouth.

‘What is on your mind?’, he asked, because he decided he was happy, or at least, as happy as he could be, soaked in a downpour. He might as well be pleasant.

‘The Resistance is throwing a ball’, Ren said. ‘It is a charity function. I thought it might be an opportunity, for the both of us.’

‘Taking the measure of the enemy’, Hux smiled. ‘I like that.’

 

  
 

 

It was only later that Hux reviewed their conversation in the moors, and made a disconcerting observation.

He was lounging in the copper bathtub, an antiquity with clawed feet that stood, unsurprisingly, in a very strange room. The walls were covered with moss-green tiles, and plants hung from the ceiling in ceramic vases, like so many anvils about to drop.

Ren had said that Snoke wanted him to bring a young person to Skywalk. Hux’s first thought had been that Snoke had some carnal designs on the prey Ren was to lure to the house. Any further reflexion on the subject had then been waylaid by the hilarious thought that Ren might consider him ‘an innocent soul’.

He reclined further in the bathtub, hypnotized by the slow revolving motion of a voluminous fern in a white clay pot.

The thought of Snoke seeking a young body was much less entertaining now that his laughter had abated, and that his treacherous mind proceeded to superimpose the memory of Ren’s bare back, a wide territory Hux had thought he might claim for his own, with a vision of Snoke’s blue-white hands, all crooked fingers and protruding veins.

He shut his eyes but still the image would not let him be, of claw-like fingers sliding up Ren’s back, crawling over every beauty-mark and sliver of a scar, until the glassy points of Snoke’s nails anchored themselves above Ren’s shoulder blades, in a blatant display of ownership.

Hux was disturbed enough by this nauseating vision that he indulged in a brief fantasy of spiking Snoke’s cordial with poison.

A sudden, throbbing pain caused him to sit up sharply, the movement sending water sloshing over the edges of the bathtub.

‘Bloody hell’, he muttered in dismay, staring at the back of his hand.  
  
His skin bore the distinctive trace of a burn, stretching from his wrist to below his fingers.

Hux inclined his hand to the left and then to the right, observing the way the burn seemed to fade depending on the amount of light that fell upon it. Yet the pain was undeniable, as cruel and all-consuming as it had been in his dream, and this time, it did not subside, and he did not wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A ha-ha is the kind of wall you would find at the back of certain properties in England, higher on one side than on the other. It would preserve your vision of the landscape, while preventing outsiders from casually stepping inside your garden.


	4. Where Hux plays with fire

Over dinner, Hux struggled to make conversation.

It was only Ren and him, seated at both ends of a ridiculously long table, in a dining room where everything was dry and flaking. The wallpaper, with its faded golden cornucopias. The wilted brown flowers in their dusty grey vases. The dead spiders in the vases, the dead flies on the console tables. The dead hog mounted above a chipped mantelpiece.

Hux speared a potato with his fork - he ate much like he did everything else, in precise movements like a succession of thoroughly planned assaults. He didn't know himself if this behaviour stemmed from a conquering spirit, or from a vindictive desire to get back at the world for some long-forgotten offense. The potato tasted strange in his mouth, like damp sawdust. It reminded him of his last meals in the besieged fort, before his father had swept in to save the day.

He stopped chewing when he realized that Ren was watching him from across the table. The firelight cast his face in a troubling light, enhanced by the silver dish of gravy by his elbow. Reddish skin and clinging shadows, a glint of mercury. Hux was reminded of paintings he’d seen while waiting in the anterooms of the country’s nobility. Northern scenes of palatable feasts, with the shiny round seeds scattered like pearls and a furry black mouse creeping among the golden crumbs. Religious scenes of the south, betrayals by candlelight. The foreground doused in brown and black paint, with only the side of a face emerging, lined in the yellow of an awakened conscience. The light faltering, as a handful of dull coins passed from an iron glove to an extended hand.

Hux shook his head, trying to dislodge these fire-lit visions.

'Does anyone ever clean this room?', he asked, willing to anchor himself in the present, refusing to let his eye be caught by the ruby-red hues of the wine in his glass.

'The girl does, sometimes', Ren said. Hux could barely hear him across that stupid table. It had been meant for a wedding feast of forty, for a royal court complete with tamed bears and wandering jesters - not for two fools eating alone. 'It's a lost cause’, Ren went on. ‘When you spend time here you must accept the inevitability of decay. There are places in the house...' At that he gestured, vaguely, towards the marble tables and the gritty vases, where dust danced in the stormy light. 'Places where worlds collide, brush against each other. The living and the dead. Or maybe time stops - or slows. John swears he saw a dead mouse come back to life in that corner over there. All I mean is... There is no use putting fresh flowers, sweeping off the dead bugs. They don't need human intervention to wither and bloom, they haven't for decades.'

Hux had lifted a forkful of stringy beans to his mouth. He set it down, carefully, on the side of his plate.

'You will not have this room cleaned', he said, slowly, as if he were talking to a particularly obtuse person, 'because the room cleans itself?'

'I wouldn't call it cleaning', Ren shrugged. 'It would be like tending to a forest. It takes care of itself.'

'Any place inhabited by men requires a measure of order, a certain tending to', Hux said. 'Whether we are talking about a forest or a house... Especially if we are talking about a house.'

'I can ask the girl to clean the room', Ren said, conciliatory. 'But as you shall see, it won't have a lasting effect.'

'Yes, this tends to be how cleaning works', Hux muttered.

'Beg your pardon?'

Hux gave a put-upon sigh. He pushed back his chair, grabbed his plate and glass, and made his way around the table to where Ren was seated. He set down both items harshly at Ren's side.

'You might hear me better, now that I'm not sitting thirty feet away', he remarked, and took a gulp of the too-sweet wine. 'Anyhow. I have two questions for you, before I politely decline Mary's frightening pudding, and retire to my room.' The thought of his room brought back the memory of the wax-like figure he had glimpsed behind the window. He swallowed the remainder of the wine, trying to forget the bloated vision. The more he dwelled on it, the less human the shadow became.

'I want to answer your questions', Ren said, so earnest that Hux waited a few seconds, expecting a 'but'. When it became obvious that Ren intended to do nothing but stare at Hux in a vaguely discomforting way, brown eyes sizzling-hot in the firelight, Hux decided to cut to the chase.

'What are your intentions regarding the ball?', he asked. 'I mean to take the measure of General Organa's battalion for the protection of ugly ruins. What do you stand to gain from such a gathering?'

'Nothing', Ren said. 'My sole purpose is to help you. Many acquaintances of mine will be there. I will intercede in your favour. For the parliamentary approval that you seek.'

'How selfless of you', Hux mused.

Ren smiled crookedly.

'I admire you', he said. 'You deserve my help.'

 _And yet, you haven't asked to see my plans_ , Hux thought. _Unless what you admire is not my mechanical mind, but my ability to make you whimper and cry._

He realized that he didn't mind either way, as long as he got what he wanted. He tried to summon his vision for the future of Hosnian Square, a succession of marble-white buildings signalling the dawn of a new age.

Strangely, for once this dream did not seem enticing. It flickered and faded, swallowed up by Ren's coal-dark eyes and by the wine-red gleam of his mouth. In that moment, there was only one thing Hux wanted, and it had little to do with the sanitation of an old square.

Ren’s hand rested by his plate, his embroidered cuff rustling against his fingers as he toyed with his fork. Hux tentatively reached out with a bandaged hand, and he stilled Ren’s fingers, the fork clattering against the table. Ren’s skin was surprisingly cold.

‘What happened to your hand?’, Ren asked, his thumb brushing against the frayed edge of the bandage.

‘A hot kettle’, Hux shrugged, recalling his dream with an uncomfortable shiver. ‘Mary gave me a surprisingly efficient salve.’

'You had another question', Ren prompted him, letting go of the bandage. There was nothing cold about his voice, at least. Hux would gladly have draped himself in it and used it as protection against the insidious chill of the place.

‘Will you join me tonight?’, he asked.

He had meant to question Ren about Snoke, but perhaps that could wait.

‘Join you?’, Ren repeated.

‘Yes, join me’, Hux said, drily. ‘In my room. Where I will divest you of your clothes. Rake my nails down your back. Strive not to scream as I let your lordship fuck me through the bed.’ Ren’s hand quivered in his grasp. Hux fought not to smile and reveal how smug that made him feel – the knowledge that he could reduce a man of Ren’s stature to such pathetic longing that he would _tremble_ when Hux propositioned him.

Encouraged by the way Ren’s eyes seemed to burn as they lingered on the exposed skin of his throat, Hux took a breath and went on. ‘It would be a good luck charm. You may choose whatever you prefer. You can have me on my back, or staring up at you, should you wish to see the strain on my face when you _breach me_ – I will not lie, _my lord_ , it has been some time since I let anyone fuck me, let alone someone of your size.’

Hux took advantage of Ren’s distraction, his free hand drifting beneath the table.

‘Not even during the war’, he whispered, his composure falling apart without him quite noticing it, busy as he was applying firm, efficient strokes to the thick member he felt stirring beneath the silky fabric of Ren’s trousers. ‘I must say, some soldiers were quite well-endowed, but I am sure that in terms of sheer length…’ Hux held Ren’s eyes as the knight rutted shamelessly against his hand, luscious lips parted on a silent moan.

Hux began to quicken his strokes. His thumb pressed down hard on the head of Ren’s cock, which had already left a damp stain across the front of his pants. It spread slowly under Hux’s insistent fingers.

‘How close are you?’, Hux asked, leaning as close as he dared, across the disturbing sight of their joined hands, which reminded him less of an impersonal exchange of favours than of the desperation of two castaways on a marina, who held fast to each other as they prepared to drown.

‘Close’, Ren shuddered, and though Hux suspected Ren had told him many lies, this pitiful thread of voice, at least, was the undeniable truth.

Ren’s cock jerked against his hand, tension building up beneath his palm, and right when he was reasonably certain Ren would come – at the dinner table, soiling himself as he stared at Hux like he might live and die without ever gazing at anything or anyone else – Hux withdrew his hand, pulling back sharply despite the constricting pressure of Ren’s thighs around his wrist.

‘Perfect’, he said. ‘Then you will come and join me without delay, so that we might resume this… conversation.’

He untangled his fingers from Ren’s grip, and similarly declined all further entreaties – pushing back Ren’s hand when it lunged for his wrist, unclasping strong fingers from his sleeve when Ren tried to hold onto that as well.

‘You should learn to enjoy it, my lord’, he smiled. ‘That prolonged moment of unfettered madness before you finally come undone. Besides, you can put an end to this straight away – if you come with me right now.’

‘I can’t’, Ren said, voice breaking on a harsh exhale. ‘I can’t’, he repeated, firmly. His eyes drifted away from Hux’s face, fixating upon the glowing fire.

Hux frowned. ‘What do you mean, _you can’t?_ ’

‘I cannot come to your room tonight. I have… I must be available in case… There are things that I must do.’

‘At night’, Hux said, blankly. Ren sounded regretful and looked miserable, not to mention flushed and ill-at-ease. He kept shifting in his seat, presumably to try and accommodate his lingering erection.

Hux couldn’t refrain a stab of mean-spirited joy at the thought of Ren straining in vain against the tight constricting seams of his trousers, longing for Hux’s nimble fingers like he would long for water, or sleep, or the sound of a voice in a deserted hall.

‘I am sorry’, Ren said, rising in turn.

He had trouble standing, too, Hux noted nastily.

‘What do you do in the middle of the night that could be more pressing than this?’, Hux asked.

The pitcher of wine was within reach. Perhaps he might use it to cool Ren down. He had considerable faith in his ability to aim it straight at Ren’s already-reddened face.

‘I will help you, at the ball. But my night is not mine to do with as I wish. No matter how much I wish for this’, Ren added, his eyes lingering on Hux’s mouth. He must be making an impressive effort of imagination, since in all likelihood the only thing he could see right now was a tight-lipped scowl and a murderous gaze.

‘Don’t you dare bring yourself off’, Hux bristled. ‘I hope whatever you do tonight, you do it with your cock heavy between your thighs, itching to touch it but too damn busy with whatever secret affair you are engaged in to give it the attention it deserves.’

He made a point of striding out of the dining room before Ren did. All the way to his room, Hux made a conscientious effort not to notice the way his own hands were shaking, or the fact that his cheeks were burning, betraying some unwanted emotion he wouldn’t name, but that he fairly suspected was not limited to shame.

 

 

 

 

Hux reclined against his pillows, absent-mindedly picking at a frayed knot in the thick counterpane. He already felt foolish, even though he had yet to give his hare-brained idea a try.

He cleared his throat. His fingers gripped the covers tighter.

'If you can hear me', he said, relieved to find that his voice did not tremble, 'I will take any help you can offer me, and I will consider it an irrevocable proof of the fact that... That you exist, whoever you are.'

He waited in expectant silence, allowing for an answer that did not come. He looked towards the hearth, then at the tapestry, and finally at the door. Nothing stirred within the shadows, and the fire kept crackling merrily in the hearth. Hux carefully refrained from looking at the wallpaper. No matter how foolhardy he currently felt, he was not ready to find it staring back.

'Could you lead me to Ren?', he asked. He lifted his bandaged hand, addressing the still pool of shadows ahead. 'Do you not owe me a favour for burning my hand?'

Although there was still nothing to be seen aside from the jumping flames, Hux heard an unexpected noise rise from the emptiness ahead.

A rueful bout of laughter.

Hux recoiled with a high-pitched squeal of terror that promptly made him redden in shame. He recoiled further, furious that he should feel exposed in front of some rude... presence.

'I heard you!', he barked. He took a second to compose himself. When he spoke again, his voice was back under control. 'Now will you take me where I asked?'

Something slid against his skin, like the first bite of a cold, cold wind. Hux was taken aback by the familiarity of the sensation – nagging, relentless, maybe even mocking. It was the pernicious draft that had guided him to the hidden door.

Hux felt it gather at his back, and push him forward. It was hardly a violent shove, but the draft reiterated it again and again with a persistence that was not fully human in nature.

'I only had one glass of wine', Hux reminded himself. 'Although I suppose the strange climate of the last few days... Months... Could have gotten to my head. Yes, yes, I am following you. Let me just light a candle… There, I'm opening the door.'

He did not do so straightaway, though – first he let his head fall against the doorframe, and allowed himself to ponder the absurdity of his predicament.

'I am addressing the empty air', he muttered.

Having openly acknowledged this fact, he opened the door, and stepped outside.

 

 

 

 

Hux progressed slowly through the halls of the deserted manor. Whenever he approached a wrong turn, the draft would sweep around him and, like a rope extending across his midriff, the tenacious little draught would bar the way. Hux would then backtrack, and pick another corridor, but this process was far from swift. To his own surprise, he found himself wishing the draft would manifest itself in a more tangible way. He would rather follow the pointed finger of a ghostly figure than this wuthering wisp.

Yet, despite the draft’s lack of a full-fledged body, Hux discovered he could ascribe specific traits to it. It was playful, to some extent. When Hux became too irate and scolded it after one too many wrong turns, the little gust of wind had an honest-to-god sulk, and slunk off. It only returned after Hux issued a vocal apology, and even then, it remained resentful. Hux suddenly developed an itch in the middle of his back, conveniently placed out of his reach.

The petty behaviour convinced him that this drifting spectre was not the woman he had seen in his dreams. Despite the nasty burn she had dealt him – and that mere thought reawakened the ache in his hand with a vengeance – she had been far too composed for this sort of immature display.

Although Hux tried to commit to memory the many turns that he took, the various stairs that he descended and the succession of paintings and carpets and doors that he passed along the way, he couldn’t make head or tail of the layout of the house. He had seen the outer shape of the manor, and he thought he knew which way was north and which was south. But the corridors didn’t follow one another in an orderly fashion, and try as he might to keep his bearings, he began to doubt his senses.

He passed stairs leading to half-floors, doors where he could have sworn there should be walls or windows. At one point, he followed a flickering light to its source, expecting an open door, but found a window instead, shaped like a mirror with an ornate gilt frame. The window looked into a room, a dusty bedroom with a purple-canopied bed in an alcove and a golden vanity table sculpted with the pinnacles and quatrefoils of a gothic cathedral. A candle stub sat at the edge of the vanity, as if someone had been sitting in the plush burgundy armchair seconds before Hux came into view.

‘Not in here’, Hux whispered, or pleaded, and with some relief he felt the draft coil around his wrist and unfurl in the opposite direction, following a dark corridor that seemed infinitely less offputting than this petrified chamber.

Eventually, after yet another set of stairs, these without any carpet to cushion the rough, uneven stone of the narrow steps, Hux discovered that he could not go any further. He had arrived in a cold corridor of the service wing, the air around him so riddled with drafts that it was hard to tell his own prickly companion from its lifeless siblings.

Hux had to walk with his head bent to avoid knocking himself against the cobwebbed ceiling. The corridor ended with a small wooden door. Hux put his hand against it, palm up, and felt the wood give slightly beneath his fingertips. A hint of a smell caused him to lean forward, intrigued.

Behind that door, something was burning.

He could smell it on the wood. The air on the other side was thick with smoke.

Cautiously, Hux tried the doorknob. Locked. The heavy iron mechanism of the lock was far too complex for what Hux suspected must have been the entrance to the cellar.

'Ren is down there?', he asked aloud, although he already knew the answer.

The draft seemed to linger above his shoulder, cool little figments raking across the fabric of his shirt like the talons of a bird preparing to sink into flesh.

'Is Lord Snoke with him?', Hux asked, turning his head in the direction of what now felt like a tiny whirlwind, a mass of air-like substance revolving around itself and occasionally whipping his ear.

Hux tried the doorknob again, then shoved his shoulder against the door, holding the candlestick away from the wood. He soon gave up, and gazed back at the low-ceilinged corridor.

'If you cannot answer, you might as well show me', he said. 'Take me to Snoke's room.'

 

 

 

 

They went back the way they came, up stone-cold stairways and then along muffled corridors where the stairs were covered in carpets that had not seen the sun in years. Hux did not feel tired. On the contrary, he suffered from a near-aggressive fit of restlessness. Meanwhile, if the constant presence of the draft had brought back his cold, and caused frequent bouts of sneezing, he had learned which shiver meant he should double back, and which faceful of air indicated a wrong turn. He easily sidestepped obstacles he did not consciously recognize, plants and writing desks and an incongruous suit of armour that he'd tripped over on the way down.

Lord Snoke’s apartments appeared to be on the same floor as Ren’s, though Hux would not have bet his life on it. He might have miscounted a half-floor here or there.

He hesitated by the door, hand poised above the knob. He thought of knocking, but what would he say if Snoke answered? _I was guided here by a malicious spirit._ Hux envisioned a suspicious Snoke in a snow-white nightcap.

When he peered through the keyhole, the room appeared to be plunged in darkness.

He needed to know. If Snoke and Ren were up to something together, deep in the bowels of the manor, something that smelled like wartime – gunpowder and burning hair and charred flesh, dead bodies given over to the scorching glare of the sun – Hux needed to know.

He blew out the candle and turned the knob.

The door swung open on silent hinges. At first Hux saw nothing apart from the outline of two windows, looking out onto a stormy sky that was only faintly lighter than the dark room. Then a stab of lightning briefly illuminated the chamber, imprinting it upon Hux’s retina – wardrobes and chests of drawers, an armchair and a wide bed with its curtains drawn. The bed was made, and the room was empty.

‘Take me back to my room’, Hux ordered the draft, only to discover that his silent guide had vanished, leaving him alone with an extinguished candle, stranded in an unknown part of the house.

 

 

 

 

Finding his room proved surprisingly easy. Obeying an impulse, Hux tried the next door over, and found himself in Ren’s room. The dying fire cast rampant shadows upon the walls, and Hux did not linger, stepping through to the tapestry and then into the hidden corridor that led him back to his own room.

He scrambled back into bed and spent a long time staring at the canopy.

It was a dangerous game, he reflected, to be scheming amongst schemers.

Contrary to the previous time, however, when his father had swept in to save the day and Hux had believed him, had failed to see through his lies until it was far too late, this time he would not let himself be used. Not unless he was sure to emerge victorious from the fray, having outwitted his allies as well as his enemies.

When he found that sleep would still not come to him, he went around the bed in order to rummage in his trunk and retrieve his gun, which he slid under his pillow, feeling some of the tension inside him subside at last.

He had stopped sleeping with the gun once he returned from the war, but now it seemed that he might not have left the war so far behind as he had thought.

Snoke’s stake in Hosnian Square – a feudal dispute. General Organa’s Resistance – a rebellious faction, fighting for the advent of a civil conflict. The old nobility in Parliament – the reason for a decades-long war, with so many peace treaties that they all annulled one another and served to spur new territorial rows. Sir Kylo Ren’s changeable moods and shifting allegiances – a brewing war in itself, one that Lord Snoke could only hope to contain for so long before he must open his hands and let Ren fly at the throats of whomever stood in their way.

Perhaps this explained his fascination with the knight. Hux had always been at home in a war. He had learned from a young age how to navigate the foreign lands that his father was sent to. As soon as he began to build watchtowers and bridges, he'd accepted that his constructions would be blown up and torn down – that everything was transient and that nothing lasted, not stone, not fame, not love.

He knew from the moment he let himself have Ren that it wouldn’t last. The warning was in every touch, as if Hux had kissed a smoking gun. Lips wrapped tight around the barrel as he sucked in the smoke; as he choked on it.

 

 

 

 

He spent the better part of the night clutching the gun under his pillow and staring at the dying fire. When he did manage to doze off, it was to succumb to a strange dream. He was brought back to the dining-room with its morbid furnishings, where he could see Ren sitting at the table but could not join him, separated from him as if by a pane of glass – until Ren came and lifted the glass, and Hux saw that it was a glass jar, and that he was on display in the room for Ren’s pleasure. When he tried to move, he found that he had become little more than a thin plume of grey smoke. He awoke with a start, the memory of Ren’s face still vivid in his mind. Eyes empty, skin ashen pale, a pale substitute for the knight as Hux had seen him last, consumed by anger and lust and by his burning pride.

 

 

 

 

Ren stole into his room early in the morning, his step lighter than the patter of the rain on the windowpanes, white-faced in the grey light of dawn. Hux rolled onto his back as Ren crawled atop the covers, still dressed in the clothes he’d worn at dinner the night before. As he drew near Hux caught a whiff of old cellar, with a trace of sulphur. Beneath the pillow, his hand held tight onto the pistol.

‘Is this how it is going to be, always?’, Hux asked. ‘We fight, you creep into my bed, we reconcile, we fight again?’

‘And then I creep into your bed, again’, Ren said, succeeding somehow in turning Hux’s belittling jibe into a fervent promise.

Hux moved to the side, centring himself on the bed and underneath Ren’s looming figure. Certainly, he could let himself have this – it did not mean he trusted Ren, or that he was giving ground. It was a mere concession to a bodily impulse, one that may yet allow him to manipulate Ren. He raised his head from the pillow and captured Ren’s mouth, chasing particles of dust across his bottom lip, tasting them on his tongue. Metallic, with that tang of sulphur, still. As Ren kissed him back, body bearing down on his own, Hux entertained a vision of an underground laboratory, arched vaults stretching far into the distance. In the middle of it, Snoke and Ren were bent over an array of instruments and vials, practising some manner of alchemy.

‘I thought you were fucking Snoke’, Hux said as Ren pressed him down into the bed, causing the sheets to chaff against his thighs.

When the meaning of his words registered, Ren drew back – not very far – and shot him an incredulous look.

‘Forget about it’, Hux muttered, fisting his bandaged hand in Ren’s hair and shoving his head back down. ‘I was wrong.’

He let Ren suck a bruise in the tender skin of his neck, urging him on with sharp little intakes of breath and a pleased, drawn-out hum when Ren licked a long strip down his throat.

‘I don’t have a wide-enough necktie to hide this at the ball’, Hux remarked, breathless.

‘Then don’t’, Ren said, viciously, and tore down the covers still shielding Hux’s body. ‘Let them see.’ He held back a moment, observing Hux below him. The nightshirt had been pushed up his legs as Ren thrust up against him, and Ren’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight – the chaffed skin of Hux’s thighs, and his jutting cock, a thin trail of precome dripping down from the flushed tip. Ren reached out, ran his fingers through the red curls below Hux’s navel. Hux’s breath hitched. He would not, however, lose track of their conversation, no matter how skilful Ren’s large fingers proved to be, sliding down between his legs, thumb dragging against his balls, middle finger teasing the puckered rim of his sensitive hole.

‘You don’t own me’, he told Ren, squirming against this intrusive touch.

‘Don’t I?’, Ren murmured, languid and self-assured.

He withdrew his hand, reached inside his jacket and retrieved a small vial. Hux heard a plaintive hiss that he refused to believe had come from his own mouth. He watched as Ren unstopped the vial and coated his fingers in lubricant.

Beneath the pillow, his cramped hand had long since let go of the pistol's wooden grip.

'You have yet to assist me in any meaningful way', he remarked. 'Don't presume to own me until you do.'

'In other words', Ren drawled, 'you are whoring yourself to me, in exchange for a political favour.'

His hand wrapped loosely around Hux's shaft, sliding down in a torturous drag of slick fingers on burning skin.

'If this is how you wish to see it', Hux muttered. 'I don't care. As long as I get what I want.'

'What is it that you want, Hux?', Ren asked, in a rough whisper against Hux’s ear. ‘Running water? Paved roads? Identical facades obeying a single order, down to the pediments above the windows and the capitals of the columns… Is this what you dream about? What you drew on your little maps?’

It shouldn’t have been such a turn-on, Ren mumbling architectural terms he obviously knew nothing about. But the words came with an amused huff of warm breath across the shell of his ear, in time with the firm strokes of Ren’s hand on his cock. Hux bit his lip to avoid sprouting nonsense. This talk of columns reminded him of nothing but Ren, Ren as he had first seen him in that ballroom, a tall pillar of the old-world and its wasted grandeur, standing against the marble columns of Hux’s ideals.

Ren moved on to the proportions of houses as he worked Hux open with one slick finger and then another – making slow work of it, for as eager as Hux might be, he remained tense. He had not lied when he’d told Ren that some soldiers had been well-endowed, but there had been little occasion to fuck during the wars of Hux’s youth – crowded barracks and crowded ships, and in the fort he had had far too much to do to allow himself more than a quick draw. More often than not, his own hand had sufficed.

He let Ren turn him over, braced himself on his forearms and waited, wondering what Ren saw that would cause his incoherent rant to die out suddenly as he looked, and looked, to the point where Hux turned back to ensure he had not vanished.

'What is the matter?'

Ren knelt upon the bed, the fine fabrics of his shirt and waistcoat thoroughly rumpled by Hux's wandering hands, his impressive cock protruding from his hastily thrown open trousers, the thick head alone looking like it might tear Hux apart.

'Nothing', Ren said, strangled, but Hux was given no time to dwell upon this unconvincing answer. Ren seized both his hips and penetrated him in one blunt move, sliding in far more easily than Hux would have expected.

'Wait, wait wait wait', Hux stammered. 'Not all at once. Slower.'

Ren obeyed, though it must have cost him, if the convulsive trembling of his hands was anything to go by. Hux breathed out, trying to will himself to accommodate the girth of Ren’s cock, to ignore the throbbing pain that persisted inside him, despite the generous amount of lubricant Ren had poured over himself. He focused instead on his neglected cock, which pulsed and leaked between his legs. He wrapped his bandaged hand around the shaft, and slowly, he began to stroke himself, mindful of the burn.

‘Now’, he ordered, at last, and pushed back even as he spoke, impaling himself on Ren’s cock with a startled gasp.

The last time Hux had had the occasion for a proper fuck, it had been with Mitaka, and Hux had been doing the fucking. He wondered if Ren felt as he had felt then, claiming another's body in a brutal demonstration of power. Hux had easily gotten off on that feeling of control. But it did not seem to be what Ren was after, Ren who fucked him in slow, uneven thrusts, as if he could barely hold himself together.

Soon enough, Hux was setting the pace, meeting each of Ren’s thrusts with a rolling motion of his hips. The air around them was full of the recurring slap of flesh against flesh, of the wet sound of Ren’s cock pulling out and then sliding back in, deep enough that Hux thought it might dislodge his frantically beating heart.

‘Is this… how you like it, then?’, Ren panted. ‘A ruthless pounding? Is this what it takes… for you to be overcome? Subdued, undone?’

Hux had some acid remark at the ready, pertaining to the fact that Ren was quite obviously as inexperienced in fucking someone as Hux was in being fucked. But he didn’t trust his voice, which had in the past few minutes reached an annoyingly high pitch, and in any case, any complaint he might have voiced went out the window when Ren’s large hand joined his own on his cock, jerking him off with an utter lack of finesse that happened to be exactly what Hux had been craving, when his injured hand could hardly fulfil its task.

He came with a full-body shudder, spurting hot seed all over the rumpled sheets. Ren’s arm coiled around his waist, holding him in place as he maintained his relentless pace, and through the haze of his boneless, post-coitus state, Hux mustered a spark of awe for the way Ren was using him now, the taut muscles of a strong forearm all but lifting him from the bed, Ren’s tall body curving inwards, his chest bearing down on Hux’s back as he discharged himself inside him in what felt like a continuous flow of warmth.

They both collapsed upon the bed, Ren in an undignified tangle of limbs, Hux in a controlled avoidance of the puddle of cooling semen in the middle of the bed sheet.

All too briefly, Hux felt utterly satiated, and he lay on his back, watching the rivulets of rain run down the windowpane. The light that came through the foggy windows had a faintly blueish tinge, a storm colour, and Hux held out a hand to watch the pale hue play across his damp skin.

'I hope none of your ghosts are watching', he said, once he had regained his breath.

'I told them to fuck off', Ren muttered in reply. 'Besides, they would not dare.'

'Oh, they listen to you, then', Hux snorted. 'Sir Kylo Ren, medium extraordinaire.' When Ren didn't answer, Hux went to the trouble of lifting his head, casting a look towards the seemingly endless slope of Ren's back. He extended a foot to rub his ankle along Ren’s calf, relishing the way Ren shivered under his touch. 'Really?’, he prompted him. ‘You can order spirits around? If I hadn't _felt_ you inside me a few minutes ago, I would consider the fact that you might be a ghost yourself. It makes a reasonable amount of sense.'

'... I am alive', Ren said, softly, as if in apology.

'I know that', Hux snorted, and resumed stroking Ren's leg with his foot, his eyes drifting up towards the canopy. The steady fall of the rain outside was comforting suddenly, another invitation to enjoy this moment before its inevitable end.

'The carriage should arrive soon', Ren declared. 'We should prepare for the journey.'

Hux's foot stilled and then withdrew. He pretended to ignore the way Ren stretched out his leg, as if he were pursuing that slight touch without being quite aware of his impulse.

'Fine, I will get dressed', Hux said. ‘Have some water sent up, if you will. I’ll venture a guess that I smell awful.'

Ren rose, refastened his trousers and made a hopeless attempt at straightening his clothes. Though Hux expected him to dash off, he chose to linger. He looked so solemn that Hux half-considered pinching the corners of his lips to wring a smile out of his downturned mouth.

‘I am glad we cleared our misunderstanding’, Ren said.

Hux could have pointed out that there had hardly been any ‘misunderstanding’, since Ren had simply kept on doing what he had been doing from the start – withholding information, soothing Hux’s frustration with blunt advances.

‘So am I’, he said instead, and sat up to accept a parting kiss.

 _A kiss from lying lips_ , he thought, even as his mouth slid against Ren’s, his head tilting to a now familiar angle. _Sealed by a deceptive tongue._

What did it matter, after all, if every touch from Ren’s fingers was a means to an end? Two could play this game – and Hux was confident that in this as in other things, his skills were exemplary.


	5. Where there is a deception

‘You look well’, Phasma said. She seemed genuinely surprised. ‘Have you been sleeping?’

‘Not exactly’, Hux replied.

Phasma lifted a thin blond eyebrow. ‘Is it not a little early in the evening for such lewd...’

‘Oh, _please_ ’, Hux snapped. ‘You know that’s not what I meant. I just... I haven’t been sleeping any better. It amazes me that you should think I _look well_.’

‘There is something of a glow’, Phasma said, a rare smile playing upon her lips. ‘As if you had at long last found the happiness of a loving household.’

Hux did not dignify that with an answer, and returned to sipping his wine. Phasma was not to be deterred, however.

'Your arrival caused quite a stir', she remarked, watching him closely.

'Well, we both knew that would happen’, Hux huffed. ‘They always stare. Ever since...'

'I am not talking about your father. Everyone saw you arrive in Sir Kylo's carriage. What a nice green necktie. It brings out the ice in your eyes. Exquisite fabric, too - it must have cost a fortune. Is he dressing you, then?'

Hux's eyes narrowed. 'Now, that's quite enough’, he murmured, trying to sound threatening. ‘I prefer when we level that kind of innuendo at other people. Speaking of. I must say I find the scenery disappointing. If the point of this ball was to prove that these buildings are worth saving, the attempt was a failure.'

He sneered at the plum-coloured wallpaper, half-expecting the swirls of acanthus leaves to sneer back. General Organa had elected to hold the ball in one of the houses on Hosnian Square. The elegant but old-fashioned tenement belonged to the General, though it had been leased to a strapping young officer from the Royal Navy.

‘What do you make of the host?’, Hux asked.

‘Charming young man’, Phasma said, neutrally.

‘Yes. That’s it, isn’t it? There is really no other way to describe him.’

Hux had wanted to dislike the man, but Poe Dameron's many perfections made it quite impossible. Consequently, during their short encounter, he had been as stilted and cutting as he possibly could.

‘He will prove a worthy opponent to your project, then’, Phasma noted. ‘After all, you intend to raze his lodgings to the ground.’

Hux tapped the heel of his boot against a creaky floorboard. The ground gave a hollow sound. ‘Rotting. This whole building is _rotting_ ’, Hux declared, with a smile of grim satisfaction. ‘Let him try and protest. I will demonstrate in front of the entire Parliament that this apartment is nothing more than a crumbling carcass.’

‘This might prove harder than you think.’

Phasma’s gaze lingered over the subtle touches of decoration that enlivened their corner of the drawing room: the heavy green curtains, with their golden tassels, and the dark yellow of the upholstery, soft and shadowy like the trailing light of a receding sun; a promise of comfort.

Hux’s eyes, however, had been drawn to a book of engravings placed carefully upon a table, in full view of anyone who should come through the open door. The book contained views of the city, and the page it was open to depicted a street of the mill district, rows of faceless façades only animated by the tattered cords of clothes hung to dry.

‘Is this their new line of defence?’, Hux said, with a snide smile. ‘Misdirection?’

When Phasma looked at him uncomprehendingly, he pointed towards the book.

‘They placed this here. To elicit a reaction. Something along the lines of, why focus on Hosnian Square, when there are parts of this city that could benefit from urgent repairs?’

‘They might not be entirely wrong’, Phasma remarked. ‘Do you remember how appalled we were, when we first returned from the war?’

‘It is a fact that the King’s money has been spent on ships, and not on the improvement of his city. What do you want me to do about it? If I can’t get the Lords to fund the renovation of their own houses, do you really think they would pay for a dramatic restoration of the working districts?’

What Hux did not say was that he had given the question far too much thought. Had he allowed himself to dream, he would not have stopped at a new square – he would have imagined a new _town_.

‘The Resistance wants us to feel guilty’, he declared peremptorily. ‘As I said, it is a case of misdirection. I will not renounce my plan.’

‘Well, then. How is it going, this plan of yours?’

Hux thought of the blue light of the storm, of the rain drumming against the windows as he tugged Ren towards him, one hand caught in the tangle of feathery black hair. He thought of Snoke’s poisons and of the locked door with its smell of sulphur. He avoided all thoughts of the spirits, tugged his cuff further down over the burn on the back of his hand. He remembered instead the long ride back to the city, waking up from a doze to find Ren watching him, as if he had been a treasure worth guarding.

‘My plan fares well, thank you’, he said, returning Phasma’s curious stare with a blank expression. ‘Sir Kylo introduced me to several of his friends upon arrival, and I felt they were quite interested in my project.’

‘Several’ might have been something of an exaggeration. Ren had introduced Hux to two of his friends. After that, he had promptly disappeared in the crowd. The two young noblemen had indeed shown some interest for Hux’s project. It had little to do with personal convictions – Hux had sensed that their main goal was to annoy their parents by supporting an unpopular cause. Their help would not be enough, in any case. Hux had expected Ren to do more. He had been looking for the Knight when he had encountered Phasma. The Captain had retreated to a deserted room in an attempt to escape from the crowd.

‘Should things not turn out the way you wish them to’, Phasma said, cautiously. ‘You know you will always be welcome in my house.’

‘I... I know that’, Hux stammered, taken aback. ‘Thank you’, he added, as an afterthought.

This display was so uncharacteristic of either of them that they both looked away at the same time, Hux towards the bottom of his glass and Phasma out the window. She cleared her throat.

‘I have been quite occupied as well, in case this is of interest to you.’

‘Of course it is’, Hux protested. He tried to drive away all other thoughts, at least temporarily. ‘I did mean to ask, but you launched into that nonsense about my sleeping patterns. Did you sign the deed on that castle?’

That won him another smile. Hux had learned early on that his fascination for the workings of architecture found an unlikely echo in Phasma’s taste for old fortresses. When they had met, she had been admiring the repurposed armoury of an old fort, which Hux had recently restored.

‘I should be able to begin the renovation work over the summer’, Phasma said.

Tumbledown castles suited her, Hux reflected. Her cold blue eyes were shining, and her pale cheeks were suffused with a rosy glow.

‘Perhaps the Resistance might help you’, Hux smiled. ‘It’s their motto after all – renovation, not destruction, or something of the sort...’

‘I did mention the old pile when I was introduced to General Organa’, Phasma said.

‘The old pile’ was a rather more accurate term than ‘castle’ to describe her new acquisition, which might have been a castle five centuries before, but now resembled little more than a great mound of dirt with the loose embrace of a crumbling rampart around its western side.

‘I have yet to see the General’, Hux noted. He wondered if Ren had already spoken to his mother. He had ventured a question on the subject during the ride to the city, but he had been met with a wall of sullen silence. ‘Our last encounter was... Less than pleasant’, he added.

‘I wouldn’t fret, if I were you’, Phasma shrugged. ‘She did not organize this ball to spite you.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure’, Hux sniffed. ‘After all, her town house is far more appropriate for this type of get-together than Captain Dameron’s lodgings. I could see her throwing a ball here just to prove that my project is useless.’

‘Have you not seen her yet?’, Phasma asked, with an eloquent lifting of both eyebrows that was certainly meant to suggest something. Hux just stared at her.

‘Who? The General?’, he asked, blankly.

‘Her ward, Miss Rey. The girl caused quite a stir. This ball has been organized for her. It marks her entry into society. Apparently, she is some deceased baronet’s daughter, though rumour has it she could be the General’s niece. General Organa’s brother retired to a monastery some years ago...’

‘How do you know all this?’, Hux snorted. ‘You can’t have arrived more than an hour ahead of me.’

‘Mitaka’, Phasma scoffed. ‘Which reminds me. He was _desperate_ to speak to you.’

‘I haven’t seen him either’, Hux said, his tone dismissive. ‘I had more urgent concerns than a conversation with Mitaka, of all people.’

‘You might like what you hear, this time around. I take it you have not heard about his new situation... It is incredible how fast things change in the city. In that sense, I suppose we could compare it to our battlefronts...’

‘I was as far from society as one can possibly be’, Hux said. ‘The last few days seem like a half-remembered dream.’

He briefly closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts, wilfully ignoring the cool brush of airy fingers at the back of his head, even as the draught ruffled his hair. Chimneys were bound to let in annoying drafts, especially in a decrepit building.

’I will try to see Mitaka before the evening is through’, Hux said, setting down his empty glass on the open book. He watched with some satisfaction as the foot of the glass left a purple ring on the glossy paper, the stain spreading outwards across the sinister rows of black and white houses.

 

 

 

 

Hux was making his way through a crowded music room, looking for Ren, when a hand closed around his forearm, halting him in his tracks.

'Mr Hux! I was hoping we’d run into each other again.'

'Captain Dameron.'

Hux cast a look behind him, where the assembled guests were listening to a song recital of the ear-splitting variety. Still no sign of Ren. He resigned himself and followed his host.

Dameron led him away from the music and towards an empty gallery. They stepped onto an old stone balcony that overlooked the square. Hux accepted a new glass of wine, which Dameron seemed to have pulled out of his tight-fitting jacket.

'We barely had the occasion to talk when you arrived', Dameron said with an easy smile. 'Your friend has a rather... dissuasive aura, about him.'

Hux leaned forward on both elbows. He peered at the black stretch of trees and at the unlit grounds of the square below. Across from them, on the south side of the square, people stood on another balcony, lit from behind by the candelabras of another bright gathering. Hux found the sight mildly disturbing, as if the partygoers on the other side of the square were the unsuspecting doubles of the guests at the Resistance ball.

'I would compliment you on your tenement', Hux said. 'But you would know I was lying.'

Dameron laughed. In turn he leaned against the chipped balustrade, offering Hux a vision of his handsome profile - glossy dark hair and long eyelashes and well-drawn lips, quirked in another rueful grin.

'Away with the guise of civility!', Dameron exclaimed. 'Well. I can't say I have anything against that. By all means, let us be honest with each other. I will repay you in kind. One of the guests tonight... You may not have met him yet? A military man, like you and I, though he was part of the infantry. A common trooper, as they say.'

Hux's hands clenched upon the balustrade. Though he was still looking at the glittering scene on the balcony across the square, his pale eyes had become glassier. He saw not the moving figures of the revellers but the heavyset figure of his red-haired father, staring at him with bloodshot eyes.

'Finn', Dameron went on, oblivious to Hux's discomfort, or relishing it, perhaps. 'That's my friend's name. He was part of your father's little... Experiment.'

'What is the point of this conversation?', Hux asked. Even to his own ears his voice sounded weak, barely above the strangled whimper of a frightened child. 'My father was tried, and condemned. All his possessions were confiscated. What more could you possibly want?'

'Finn remembers you', Dameron said, abruptly. 'He remembers you being there.'

Hux felt too warm all of a sudden, in spite of the cool night air. He slid a finger under his necktie, loosening the constricting knot.

‘This is ridiculous’, he said. He saw the threat of the firing squad looming on the horizon, as he had during the few nights he had spent in prison. His father had been executed by then, and Hux was certain his turn would come next. ‘My father...’ He faltered. If he were to one day share this unsavoury part of his life, it would not be with Poe Dameron, the darling of the Court, an exemplary sailor and the renowned captain of one of His Majesty’s prized warships.

‘I am not here to denounce you’, Dameron said. He was still leaning peaceably against the railing, eyes to the night sky. ‘I do not presume to know you. But you must understand, that when you barge in the General’s parlour with plans for the destruction of Hosnian Square... This would mean the eviction of hundreds. Just because the lands around here belong to a few lords does not give them the right to throw all their tenants in the gutter.’

‘Is this some form of blackmail, Captain?’, Hux asked. ‘Is this the way the Resistance operates?’

'I would not call it blackmail', Dameron said, with a sharper smile, slightly strained around the edges. 'I am stating facts. And a hypothesis, which would be the following: that you are every inch as ruthless and cruel as your father.'

Hux felt a brusque pang of longing for Skywalk. During a few days, he had lived in a strange alternate reality, secure in the knowledge that Snoke accepted his past, and that Ren need not know anything about it.

Then again... Skywalk was the scalding dreams and the ghostly draughts, the rain and the dark doings of Snoke and Ren in the locked cellar of an impossible house.

Hux turned away from the square, away from Dameron. He looked up at the façade of the house, and with a shiver of excitement, he found a possible way out.

'Look', he told Dameron. 'Your house is falling apart.'

A jagged line ran from the window above them to the top of the double-doors leading to the balcony. The crack was wide enough in places that Hux could easily have slipped his fingers through.

Dameron sighed. 'I know. I am not so obtuse that I would cling to this house until the last of its ruins dissolve into dust. In truth, I only moved in this apartment six months ago. But this is not the case for all the tenants of the square, and not all of them have the means or the influence to take part in the renovation campaign...’ His dark eyes returned to Hux, burning anew. ‘I have seen your plans. I am not opposed to them. What I reject is the scale - and the speed - of your project. One of your competitors suggested that we only consolidate the foundations. Another advised a thirty-year plan, to allow for a gradual relocation of the tenants. Comparatively, your proposal...'

‘Don’t you have anything better to do?’, Hux snapped. ‘The whole lot of you, with your tedious aesthetic ideals and your social concerns. You could take on entire districts easily. I saw your little book of gloomy prints. Why focus on Hosnian Square?’

‘The Resistance does have other projects’, Dameron agreed. His smile returned, though it was quite obvious this time that the swift grin was a façade. ‘The General founded the Resistance so that men like me... Or men like you, for that matter, would have something to do when they returned from the war. I am personally involved in helping certain soldiers, which is how I met Finn...’

‘Do you mean that if I had come to you straightaway, your organization could have arranged for me to get the commission for Hosnian Square?’, Hux asked, fairly stunned.

‘Not with the project as it stands’, Dameron shrugged. ‘But scaled down, revised... I would say it’s still a possibility. I know the General wants nothing more than to mend fences with Lord Benjamin, and since you have his... _support_...’

At first, Hux was too focused on the possibility of a compromise to take in the rest of Dameron’s words.

‘How much would I have to scale down the project?’, he asked. ‘Surely...’ He stopped short. ‘Lord Benjamin?’, he repeated.

Understanding dawned on Dameron’s ridiculously attractive features. ‘Oh, I tend to overlook his change of name. What is it again, these days? The Knight of Ren?’

‘Lord Benjamin’, Hux murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

‘If you would work with us... The both of you. The General will consider your project. You know what her support is worth. I need not repeat why it would be ill-advised for you to go against the Resistance.’

‘Yes, yes, I understand’, Hux said, waving an airy hand. ‘Obstacles, infamy. And so on and so forth. Well, if that’s all, I have other places to be. I will consider your offer.’

‘If this is what you want to call it’, Dameron called as Hux stepped away. ‘For whatever it’s worth, I will never trust you, no matter what you choose to do. And whomever you decide to bother tonight, leave Finn well alone.’

‘I don’t even know what he _looks like_ ’, Hux muttered spitefully, but he did so once he was back in the gallery, and quite certain that Dameron would not hear. The dashing Captain was the host of the party, after all, and it wouldn’t do to antagonize him any further.

 

 

 

 

As Hux walked the length of the gallery, he pondered the Captain’s offer. He would never accept it – why would he, when Snoke was ready to back his initial project? Yet, he could not help but wonder what Ren would think. What little information he had regarding Ren’s family seemed to indicate a fraught relationship with his mother, but perhaps Ren would not be opposed to a reconciliation. Unless his aim had been to counter his mother from the start, and he had used Hux to that end. In which case, Hux could hardly blame him. After all, his entire relationship with Ren had been predicated on the basis of favours, exchanged or promised.

He came to a halt beneath one of the tall windows, and took a moment to revel in the sight of a cloudless sky. An enormous white moon had risen over the roofs of the houses, and the whole corridor was lit by its wan glow. Though the gallery seemed empty, even more so now that the door leading to the music room has slammed shut behind Poe Dameron, Hux could hear a twittering and jittering coming from behind the closed curtains of the window to his left. He told himself that the hidden figures were most likely several girls having escaped their chaperones. In fact, he could see the toes of a slippered foot pointing out from under the blue damask curtain. Another pair of curtains further down the gallery seemed to hide another spectacle entirely, if the concert of sighs and senseless whispers was anything to go by.

Hux knew he should return to the more populated rooms and resume his search for sponsors, or at least find Ren. He found himself hovering on the spot, reluctant to give up the temporary quiet and the sheltering shadows of the gallery. He wondered what had happened to him, that in the space of a few days, he had come to enjoy the darkness of a cold room, favouring it over the heady luxury of a high society gathering.

But that might have been the issue, after all. Hux had never really liked society in the first place.

‘Here we can talk undisturbed.’

Hux recognized Ren’s voice immediately, the low timbre and the strange lilt of it, as if Ren were still thinking his words through even as he spoke. He could not have said what spurred him to retreat behind the curtain rather than to step forward. He pulled the heavy fabric around him, not so much that the movement would be noticeable from the end of the gallery, but enough to ensure he would not be seen.

‘Not the balcony’, Ren said again. ‘Someone might come out for air.’

Hux remained silent behind his curtain. He wanted to hear more, to see who Ren was talking to, and to know what he meant to talk about that would require such secrecy. He tried not to think of what would happen should Ren choose the empty bench beside him, which the half-pulled curtain did nothing to conceal. He was still holding the glass Dameron had given him, but should he be caught, it would only make him appear more ridiculous. What would he say? ‘I stepped behind a curtain for a minute, to drink in peace?’

He held his breath as Ren approached, the Knight’s purposeful tread nearly eclipsing the lighter steps of his companion. Ren seemed to be headed for Hux’s window, but something caused him to pause on the other side of the curtain. Hux closed his eyes and prepared himself for a moment of abject shame. Maybe he had failed to conceal the tip of a shoe, or perhaps the shape of his body was visible through the curtain. At this moment however, a timely peal of laughter erupted from the next window over. Hux silently thanked the featherbrained girls who had been hiding there – Ren immediately stepped away from the curtain, and he passed Hux’s window without a second glance, striding towards the other end of the gallery, pulling his companion after him.

It was a girl, Hux noticed dumbly as the couple passed, and Ren was holding her hand. Hux did not get much of a sense of her appearance, little more than a blur of cream-coloured muslin flying by in the wake of Ren’s tall frame.

The strange pair disappeared behind another set of curtains, which Ren pulled closed with a hasty gesture that left Hux breathing hard, as if he had just received a vicious punch to the stomach.

During the long journey back from Skywalk, Hux had had the time to elaborate an exhaustive list of disastrous outcomes for this ball. And yet, he had somehow failed to include Ren’s attempts at finding a bride. Foolishly perhaps, Hux had assumed that Ren would call off his search, now that he had found a companion for Snoke. Now that he had found Hux.

Hux briefly entertained the thought of walking over there and confronting Ren. But aside from the fact that a public argument would do them both a disservice, Hux could not bear the thought that he might end up being the butt of a cruel joke. What if this whole situation had been clear to Ren from the start, and Hux alone had been blinded by... He was not so sure what had blinded him, exactly. His grand scheme? Or had it been Ren, with his heavy-handed attempts at getting whatever he wanted out of Hux, when all the while he had had other designs in mind?

As Hux stood on trembling legs, clutching the curtain for support, he felt his stupefaction turn into a simmering anger. In a last-ditch attempt at regaining his sanity, he resolved not to provoke the couple. He would first try to corroborate his doubts.

Having abandoned his glass on the bench, he made his way towards the closed curtains, trying to be as discrete as he could. Thankfully, and contrary to Ren, he had never been a blundering fool.

He had to get right up against the curtain to hear the voices in the alcove. This time, he made sure his feet remained clear of the curtains, lest he should betray himself before he had even heard a word.

'My first night in the world, and my reputation is already unsalvageable', the girl was saying. Her voice was not dissimilar to Ren's, wilful and strong.

'I wouldn't say so', Ren said. He seemed contrite. 'I doubt anyone saw us... I will let you leave ahead of me.'

'You doubt anyone saw us?', she repeated, with an incredulous laugh. 'Ben, the entire ballroom saw us leave! And every guest in the music room. Not to mention the girls hiding over there.'

She was trying to sound reproachful. Hux wondered if she noticed how her voice quavered when she uttered Ren’s old name, ‘Ben’, with a note of irresistible fondness. It made him realize that he had rarely ever used Ren's names. Not unless it was to taunt him. There were too many of them, too many names and too many titles, and this 'Ben' whispered in the confines of an alcove was the first that sounded like it might be the real thing.

'I apologize', Ren said. 'I needed to speak to you.'

'In secret.'

'Alone', he corrected. 'I was told you would be here tonight. I wouldn't have come otherwise.'

Maybe Hux liked Ren, more than he had cared to admit. Certainly it would explain the painful resentment that now flared up inside him. He had wanted to believe that Ren was naive, a sheltered aristocrat made vulnerable by his loneliness. But now he was forced to reconsider. What with Ren's little schemes with Snoke, and his courting of a girl whom Hux knew nothing about... Adding to this that the girl had accepted to see him alone despite the potential scandal, and that Ren did not seem willing to take advantage of the situation... Hux gritted his teeth. He fisted both hands at his sides. But he kept listening.

'Do you remember anything?', Ren asked pleadingly, and it was so easy to picture him then, the soft entreaty of his dark brown eyes as he seized the girl's hands in his own, cautious not to exert too strong a grip on the slender fingers. 'Do you remember me?', he added, in so faint a whisper that Hux thought he might have imagined it.

'Of course I do', the girl said. Hux heard her lean towards Ren - there was a rustle of skirts, a startled intake of breath on Ren’s part. 'I remember the rain', she said. 'And you would crawl into my bed. You pretended you were doing it for me. But I knew you were afraid.'

'It doesn't matter now', Ren said. Another rustle - presumably he had straightened up, or edged back.

'It does', she insisted.

'Rey...'

'You could still come home. If I could, you could as well. You know the General doesn't blame you for Han's...' She swallowed. 'For your father's death.'

'You have no idea what I've done', Ren whispered, urgent and raw.

'What about me?', she exclaimed, loud enough that Hux took a step back. He quickly ensured that he had not disturbed the curtain and assumed his former position, his ear against the silky fabric. Rey had resumed talking. Her voice was lower, but nevertheless violent. 'I spent five years in a workhouse! And another six in an orphanage, where I worked during the day, in a factory. My first year at your mother's house, I couldn't believe the amount of food on the table. And several meals a day! And they taught me how to read - I could write a few things, but not much.'

'Rey, I didn't know. I didn't know where you were.'

'Would you have come if you had?'

A sound of frustration. Hux heard movement behind the curtain, which must have been Ren expressing said frustration with some wildly eccentric gesture, as per usual.

'I don't know', he admitted at length. 'I want to believe that I would have. I am here now, if that amounts to anything. Will you let me see you again?'

'I'm not sure.'

Hux thought, rather cruelly, that for a girl who had only just been introduced to society, the girl knew the rules well. She displayed a perfect ability to manipulate men, with a subtle play of coyness and charm.

'I was told you had better things to do’, she said. ‘Harbouring criminals. Plotting the eviction of Captain Dameron.'

'You know I would place you above all else', Ren murmured.

Hux winced. He had entertained a vague hope until then that the girl might be some long lost sister - these things were not supposed to happen beyond the realm of novels and plays, but he would have accepted that truth with a desperation he wouldn't name. But there was nothing fraternal about Ren's declaration. It spoke of a longing Hux had glimpsed in Ren's eyes, time and again, as they rode towards the city. He had thought, then, that he was the object of that longing.

Part of him wanted to stomp off in a rage, but he was held in place by his pragmatic instincts. Every word Ren spoke might be of use later on, he reminded himself - every confession could be used to force the Knight to do his bidding.

'Visit me tomorrow, then', Rey said, though with some reluctance. 'Call at the house tomorrow morning.'

'I will.'

'And Ben... Tomorrow, I want us to talk about... That is, if you still...'

‘Don't worry', Ren whispered fervently. 'I see them too.'

'Hux!'

Hux froze. He could sense that behind the curtain, Ren and the girl had also gone tense, and the first thing he did before acknowledging the call was to move as far away from the alcove as he could, backtracking several steps before he pivoted to confront the newcomer.

'Mitaka.'

'I have been looking everywhere for you!', Mitaka cried. Hux had never seen him look so lively, his narrow features gripped in a smile that must have been painful to hold in place.

Hux could no longer see the curtained alcove behind him, but he was fairly certain Ren and the girl were still there.

'Well, here I am', he said, with a cold smile. 'Should we return to the ballroom?'

'Oh no, no, one can’t have a proper conversation back there!', Mitaka protested, still with that same manic grin. 'Hux! I have great news. I have been acknowledged! My father's son fell from a horse and broke his neck - tragedy, really, but since he did not have any other legitimate child, he named me as his sole heir!'

'Congratulations', Hux said. 'You must be pleased.'

'Of course', Mitaka said, with an airy handwave that he must have picked up somewhere, and that didn't suit him at all. 'But I wanted to tell you because... Hux, it means I can help you! I talked to my father about your project - you know he is _very_ influent at the House... And he seemed quite taken by the idea. He said it was all a matter of drafting a bill and having it be supported by the right kind of people - I mean a bill of insalubrity, and he said the old snobs at the House had never liked Count Snoke or the General and would readily go against both...'

'Mitaka, slow down', Hux cut in, trying to make sense of that excited ramble. 'This is... Good news', he said, eyes shifting imperceptibly towards the alcove. He could have sworn the curtain had moved. Behind Mitaka, the girls occupying the other window had pulled the curtains slightly apart, and two blond heads were poking out, watching the scene. The alcove where Hux had earlier heard sighs and moans was blessedly silent.

'Is this not everything you wanted?', Mitaka asked, with, for the first time, a flicker of indecision. 'I can give it to you, now.'

Hux could tell the phrase had wider implications than his project alone. He could have ignored or rejected them, but with Ren at his back, throwing away Hux's plans for some girl he had pulled from the gutter...

 _You came from the gutter too_ , Hux's brain supplied, unhelpfully. _And he pulled you out as well._ Hux chose to ignore those facts.

'I am more grateful than I can say', Hux told Mitaka. He remembered the first time he had allowed Mitaka in his room. There had barely been enough space for two, the bedframe was collapsed and his maps and plans sat on the floor for lack of shelves. But Mitaka had stepped inside as if he had found shelter. Hux had chosen him because he was frail. He hadn't been looking for a source of support, but for someone that he could manipulate. Someone that he could break.

And against all odds, Mitaka had flourished, surviving the damp fortress and the wreckage of the war. Now he was in a position to take what he wanted and to provide shelter. It was a disturbing thought.

‘You must meet my father as soon as possible’, Mitaka declared. ‘Tomorrow! Are you residing with Captain Phasma again? Because you could come and stay at my house. Certainly, you won’t have to keep up any pretences with Sir Kylo now. Now that there is another way.’

Hux could not have explained the reckless thrill that caused him to answer, his voice too high: ‘I suppose you’re right. I will visit you tomorrow, then.’

He remained stock-still as the curtain behind him was drawn, and as a dark shadow stalked past, causing Mitaka to stumble in an attempt to step out of the way.

‘Was he crying?’, Mitaka whispered, wide-eyed.

The girl swept past them in a swirl of white muslin. Hux had time to glimpse dark hair, a wiry arm.

‘Of course not’, he said. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

 

 

 

 

It made little sense to stay after that, and Hux prepared to take his leave, wondering all the while where he would go, and what he would do. He knew of many places where he might spend the night. Places known to provide gentlemen with the pleasures that befitted their rank, where he had once been admitted on the basis of his father’s good name, though he had been too young to make much of the privilege at the time. And should these doors be closed to him, there were theatres and pleasure gardens, coffee-houses and that cantina by the docks, which opened at night, and served hot food to sailors and soldiers. A simpler solution would be to find Phasma. He could move back into her guestroom, accept a nightcap and visit Mitaka in the morning to discuss his plans.

Fighting with Ren, however, would be better than not seeing Ren at all. Hux had no hope of getting to sleep until he had aired his grievances, and he did not particularly fancy the thought of roaming the town throughout the night.

He was halfway to the door, having decided to return to Ren’s townhouse, when he was intercepted by the last person that he might have wanted to see.

‘General Organa.’

‘Mr Hux. I was told you were here, but you are an elusive man. I do not think I saw you once during the evening.’

For such a small woman, she had a frightening presence, imputable in part to the sharpness of her steely gaze. With the knowledge that Ren and her were related, it was easy to find traces of the one in the other, in the fine outline of her mouth, in the angle of her jaw. And in her eyes, too, though Ren’s eyes were not as piercing, but rather pensive and brooding.

Aside from her resemblance to Ren, Hux couldn’t shake the impression that he had recently seen someone else who looked like the General. Another woman, who wore as fine a gown, and whose dark hair was also coiled and pinned in an elaborate hairdo.

‘Did you hurt your hand?’, General Organa said, when a few seconds had passed and Hux had done nothing but stare rudely at the braided crown of her hair.

‘It is only a superficial burn’, he replied.

Off to the side, a valet was holding the front door open for him. Hux wanted nothing more than to make a hasty exit. This conversation would have been awkward at the best of times, but it was made even more so by the dramatic turn of the evening.

‘How did you find the ball?’, the General asked. Though she was perfectly polite, Hux was convinced that there was a double entendre to her words. The unnerving directness of her gaze caused him to stand preternaturally still, as if the wrong move might encourage her to strike him down with a pointed frown.

‘A great success, assuredly’, he said. ‘You should be proud. Now, if you will excuse me... I must depart at once.’

‘In pursuit of my son, no doubt’, the General said. ‘If you will allow me this piece of advice, Mr Hux, I won’t delay you any longer. Tread with caution where my son is concerned. Let it not be the blind leading the blind - you might be devoid of a conscience, but you are a smart man.’

‘If I have been blind, I can assure you that I see clearly now’, Hux said, tersely. ‘I would advise you to turn that saying around, and consider who it is among us who refuses to see the facts. We are standing in a collapsing house, where only minutes ago your son was wooing your pretty little ward. That in itself is not my concern, but should you happen to notice the state of the house – say, by standing outside and looking up at the large crack in the facade... You know where to find me.’

As he departed from the ball, which was still in full swing, he marvelled at the vagaries of life. One day, an engineer might take pride in the stability of his constructions – and the next, he could find himself burning his bridges as thoroughly as he had built them.

 

 

 

 

He could have hailed a coach, but he chose to walk, perhaps to delay the inevitable.

Nevertheless, it gave him time to weigh his options, and to relive the entire evening in excruciating detail. The more he thought about it, the more he regretted his rash conduct. He had acted as if he had been hurt by Ren's behaviour. As if he had been jealous of the girl.

His agreement with Ren was that Ren must help him with his project - there had never been any talk of fidelity. If Ren wanted to court the girl, and if said courtship did not impede Hux's project beyond the fact that it might temporarily delay it, Hux was hardly in a position to object.

All in all, by the time Hux finally reached Ren's house, he had resolved to try and placate Ren. If needed, he might even consent to some sort of an apology.

Ren's townhouse stood a street away from a busy thoroughfare, about a mile from Hosnian Square. The windows on the ground floor were brightly lit, which meant that Ren must be in the small sitting room facing the street. Hux climbed the steps to the front porch and knocked on the door. He tried to swallow past the knot in his throat.

The door swung open. Instead of the aging butler with his unshakeable composure, Hux was met with the sight of an irate and dishevelled Ren. The bright outline of his towering frame made him look like some vengeful god.

Ren stepped aside without a word. Hux brushed against him as he came in - he could not have helped it if he had wanted to, Ren having stayed close to the door. Ren smelled like Skywalk, that smell of a candlelit room away from the storm.

The sitting room Hux strode into had little in common with the decadent grandeur of Skywalk, but certain details alluded to the old mansion, most notably the preposterous amount of greenery, flowers and leaves and tangled stems creeping under the armchairs and overrunning the porcelain figures on the mantelpiece. Hux sat down, leaned back, and looked up.

Ren was hovering by the door, a devilish creature in faded red velvet, watching him with murderous eyes.

'I knew you were an opportunist', Ren said, speaking fast. 'I knew there was a risk, and that you might abandon me if you found a better source of support. Foolishly, I convinced myself that it didn't matter. No one could offer you a better deal than I. Or so I thought.'

'There is no need to be so dramatic', Hux sighed. He made a point of being articulate, since Ren seemed intent on mumbling. 'Things have gone too far. We both acted impulsively.'

'You spied on me! And then you humiliated me – publicly!', Ren shouted.

At least the rising tone had the merit of clarifying his words. Hux drummed his fingers on the armrests of the chair, lips compressed in a thin, forbidding line.

'I hate to admit to it, but I did spy on you', he said, after a time. 'The temptation is hard to resist when you go out of your way to be secretive.'

'I was trying to protect...'

'Don't say it', Hux warned, coldly. Without his noticing, his careless drumming had turned into a white-knuckled grip. 'You think I need protection? Me? You don't know me.'

'I have feelings for you', Ren blurted out, though he seemed to notice this was a mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth. Besides, the tone was all garbled and wrong: desperately accusative, as if those feelings had been an infected wound.

'Please, we met four days ago', Hux retorted, voice laced with as much poison as he knew how, all thoughts of a truce forgotten.

'You spent these four days at Skywalk, you know time doesn't follow the same rules in that goddamn graveyard!'

Ren seemed to collect himself. When he resumed speaking, his voice had reverted to its usual pattern, sullen and low.

'I was alone for so long, every day felt like a lifetime’, he muttered. ‘Given away for nothing... For Snoke. I thought that this madness, this _aimless rage_... I thought it had finally ended when I met you. There were times when I nearly believed that I’d become a ghost myself. You reminded me of the rest - the pulsing heart, the wasted flesh. Whatever still tied my soul to this body', he finished, with a dismissive gesture towards the faded dressing robe and the body it concealed.

‘How easily these declarations seem to come to you at times’, Hux wondered aloud. ‘Yarns and more yarns and you spin them quite adequately, I have to say. Well, Lord Benjamin, from where I stand, it seems like the girl gets the bare truth, and I get the convoluted tales.’

This prickly retort seemed to put a definitive end to Ren’s verbosity. He strode over to the fireplace, turning his back to Hux.

Hux bit his lip, eyes shifting to the silent street that he could dimly see through the window. He had had several other replies in mind, all of them far more subtle and manipulative than this bitter tirade. On the way back from the ball, he had dared to believe that he’d found a way to solve this conflict. He had decided to behave rationally, and to conceal his inner turmoil. Now it had surreptitiously come back to the surface, in what Hux refused to call a fit of jealousy.

He was not one to be betrayed by his feelings. In fact, he had spent the past two decades convinced that he was entirely deprived of such weaknesses. To be proven wrong and at such an inauspicious time caused him to go utterly still in his seat, lips clamped shut around truths that he refused to utter. He suddenly wished that Ren would leave, that he might have this crisis of sentiment alone. His rational mind was not so far gone that he couldn’t appreciate the irony of the situation. After he’d endured several days of horrid weather and of standing his ground in front of ghostly entities - worse, after he had had to put up with a house that made no sense, a giant architectural anomaly that he doubted he would ever truly understand - to be finally defeated by his own self – by his own wanton lust and his hare-brained affections!

‘I’ve turned into a goddamn fool’, Hux muttered dejectedly.

Hearing this, Ren turned his head, looking at Hux over his shoulder. He waited, as if he expected Hux to add something. When Hux remained silent, staring blankly ahead, Ren let out a wordless growl and strode over to Hux’s chair. Before Hux had quite had time to understand what was happening, Ren had lifted him off the armchair, both hands fisted in the fabric of his jacket. Fully expecting a punch, Hux lowered his head, tucking his chin into his shoulder. He closed his eyes.

Ren did not hit him, though the kiss he administered instead was as brutal as a punch. Hux opened his mouth without thinking the moment Ren’s lips touched his own, but there was no returning that kiss. Not when it felt like he was floating or falling, head rolling back as he let Ren ravage his mouth. Still he tried to scrabble for purchase. He latched onto Ren’s arms with both hands and gripped the fabric tight, relieved to have found an anchor.

When Ren finally let go, tearing himself free from Hux’s grasp, Hux failed to contain a piteous moan. His legs refused to hold him and he fell back into the armchair. His body was but a map of territories claimed and conquered, from his shaking hands to his numb legs, from his throbbing tongue, suffering still from a remorseless bite, to the burning ache in his groin.

Ren was out of the room before Hux could regain control of his faculties. A minute later, as he ran cautious fingers over his swollen lips, he heard a door slam on the floor above.

 

 

 

 

Hux was used to having trouble sleeping. He had long since repurposed his nights, turning the sleepless hours into a time for reflexion and the refinement of schemes. As he lay in bed following the confrontation with Ren, he tried to analyse his own behaviour.

He should have said something. This much was obvious. As the scene unfolded, Hux would never have admitted to anything. Once he was alone in his room, however, within the comfort of his bed, various alternative outcomes sprung to mind. He should have held onto Ren rather than to let him flee. He should have returned that kiss, no matter how airy-headed he felt, until Ren forgot about the ball, and about the girl. But above all else, he should have said something.

He held onto one certainty. Ren would come to his room, as he had every other night. Hux would tell him whatever he wanted to hear, and the whole debacle would temporarily be kept at bay.

Provided he found the right words.

_If I reacted poorly, it was merely out of concern – I was worried that our diverging interests might play against me._

Definitely something he might say. Perhaps too formal, however. Words so close to being empty it wouldn’t make much of a difference whether he spoke them or remained silent.

_I was just watching my back, in case you should turn against me. It was nothing personal._

Except that it was. Hux could readily accept that fact, now that he was not exposed to the frightening incandescence of Ren’s gaze.

_Caring for anyone but myself is a weakness, and I will not give ground until I am assured that we stand to gain more than we will lose in this endeavour._

The tone was wrong – too aggressive. Hux was not about to incite another row. He was too exhausted for this, vanquished by the long journey to the city and by an evening fraught with tension.

_I might have feelings for you, too?_

He smothered a desperate groan inside his pillow.

 

 

 

 

After several hours of circuitous thoughts, and with only a few hours left before sunrise, Hux had to face the facts. Ren wasn’t coming.

Still, it took him a moment longer before he managed to overcome his inhibitions, and get out of bed.

He left his room reluctantly, dragging his feet all the way to Ren’s bedroom, at the other end of the dark corridor. At least, the townhouse followed a simpler plan than Skywalk, and the corridor was pleasantly warm, void of any playful drafts.

Hux let his hand hover above the door handle, worried for a second that Ren might have locked it out of spite. He couldn’t hold back a tremulous sigh of relief when the door swung open. He waited on the threshold for his eyes to adjust. When he was able to make out the shape of Ren’s bed, he stepped inside and closed the door.

Hux’s instincts were screaming at him to double back and leave. Of the various reactions Ren might have to finding an intruder in his room, an assault seemed far more likely than a grateful tryst or a goodnight kiss.

Hux felt his way along, bare feet padding softly on the thick carpet. When he reached the empty side of the bed, he quickly pulled back the sheets and slipped between the covers.

Ren did not move, but Hux could tell his stillness was unnatural. Ren was very much awake.

He waited with bated breath for a dismissive word or gesture, anything that would compel him to gather the shreds of his dignity and run.

Ren didn’t say anything, and after a while, Hux relaxed into an uneasy sleep.

 

 

 

 

It might have been a dream – waking up in the middle of the night to Ren’s hand between his legs, Ren’s arm a crushing weight upon his hip, pinning him to the bed. Even then, as Ren coaxed and teased his stirring cock with drowsy fingers, Hux knew he should have spoken.

Unless it was a dream. Words were not the currency of dreams, and so he might remain silent, but for the whispered curse that slipped from his lips when Ren shifted closer and pushed his stiff member against Hux’s ass. The flimsy fabric of the nightshirt did little to attenuate the feeling of Ren’s cock sliding up the cleft of his ass, or the disorienting warmth that seemed to spread outwards from Ren’s body and into his own.

Maybe it wasn’t a dream. But if that was the case, how could Ren have absorbed Hux’s tastes to such a bewildering degree? The rhythm and pressure on his cock were a remarkable imitation of the motions he himself would have followed, fingers circling the base in a tight grip, a quick pull on the upstroke, thumb roughly brushing across the slit before Ren’s hand slid downwards at a maddeningly slow pace.

If Hux was truly awake, or rather, not entirely asleep, hips lazily pushing back against red-hot flesh, then Ren was not irrevocably angry, and perhaps this whole situation might still be solved without Hux making some heartfelt confession. It was easy to let himself believe it, to hold the pillow against his face and to muffle his fitful gasps inside it.

To the very end he didn’t say a word, not even as he came from the sole stimulation of a coarse-fingered touch – unless it was more than that, that touch and Ren’s presence, rutting against his back and grunting against his neck, his teeth too close to Hux’s skin. Perhaps that would do, Hux thought. An offering of pale freckled skin for Ren to sink his teeth into. Still, he reached down, grasped Ren’s large hand where it lay against his spent cock, streaked with the white spurts of his release. Bringing it to his mouth, he set to licking every finger clean, swallowing the bitter fluid with renewed fervour and little more than a faint grimace.

He went back to sleep, oblivious to the filthy state of the rumpled sheets, pulling Ren’s arm fully around him, fingers wrapped tight around Ren’s hand, holding it close to his ever-silent lips.

 

 

 

 

Hux was not particularly surprised to wake up to an empty room. A few signs alluded to Ren’s recent presence – the old dressing robe, thrown over the back of a chair; or the shirt and silk necktie that he’d worn to the ball.

Hux stole back to the guestroom, careful to avoid the chambermaid, whom he could hear humming in an adjoining room. He found a warm bath waiting for him in the bathroom. Reluctant to waste time, he quickly washed off the remnants of the night.

Downstairs, he encountered the valet, who was nearly done setting up his breakfast in the small sitting room. The old man put down a steaming pot of tea and began to clear what Hux assumed was Ren’s place setting.

‘Did Sir Kylo leave a long time ago?’, he asked.

‘A half hour ago’, the valet answered, stopping by the door with an armful of dishes. ‘Not to worry, Sir. He said you were to be provided with whatever you needed. Let me know should you find yourself in want of anything.’

Hux thanked the servant and sat down, lost in thought. Ren must have gone to visit the girl. It had been foolish of him to think that anything would have changed, just because of a drowsy handjob. He pushed away his plate, his appetite suddenly gone.

At least, he could still visit Mitaka. He might as well do something productive with his time, until Ren returned.

He glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece. It was barely eight in the morning. A little early for a house call.

Hux sprung up and went in search of the valet. He found the man in the kitchen, conversing with the young cook. The both of them seemed a little surprised to see him in the service area.

‘Is anything the matter, Sir?’, the valet asked, impeccably polite.

‘Do you know when Sir Kylo will be back from the General’s house?’

Hux knew immediately from their look of connivance that something was amiss.

‘Sir Kylo has returned to his estate’, the girl said. ‘To Skywalk. He won’t be back anytime soon.’

At first, Hux could only stare at her in disbelief. Eventually, he regained some control over his startled features, and schooled his face into a look of cool indifference.

‘I see’, he said. ‘Thank you.’

He made his way back to the narrow entrance hall, trying to infuse his step with a sense of purpose. As he passed the console table in the hall, he noticed a letter propped against the wall. It bore the girl’s name, ‘Miss Rey’, and the address of the General’s townhouse. Hux picked it up, intrigued, but predictably, the letter was sealed. Hux recognized Ren’s starry family crest. He had seen it time and again, carved into the very walls of Skywalk.

‘I beg your pardon, Sir.’

Hux turned towards the valet, the letter still in hand. The old man’s eyes flickered from the letter to Hux’s face.

‘Might I enquire as to the time you should like dinner to be served, Sir?’

Hux stared at the man, puzzled. But these few seconds were more than enough for him to make up his mind.

‘I won’t be having dinner here’, he declared, returning the letter to its place on the table. ‘I should like, however, to know the time of the next stagecoach. I will be returning to Skywalk as well. Find out which coach will bring me as close to the house as possible. I’d rather avoid a long walk in the rain. And bring me paper and some ink. I have a letter to write.’

 

 

 

 

Hux’s letter to Mitaka was by no means a fine display of penmanship. Curt and hastily scrawled, it contained a vague apology and an even vaguer invitation to discuss Mitaka’s proposal further at the earliest opportunity.

Hux left the missive next to Ren’s letter to Rey, trying not to wonder what Ren might have written.

What mattered, after all, was that Ren had chosen to cancel his visit, in favour of doing what he did best: running away. Hux couldn’t prevent a tiny flicker of hope at the idea that Ren might have fled because of him. If that was the case, there might still be a way to mend that particular bridge.

 

 

 

 

And so it was that Hux boarded a cramped stagecoach later that morning, insinuating himself between a matronly woman with a heavy wicker basket, and a man who had both the smell and the appearance of a wet dog. As he prepared himself to face the long journey back to Skywalk, he tried to find solace in the knowledge that this, at last, was the right step to take. Naturally, the time it had taken him to come to that decision might play against him, and the decision in itself might not yield the best results where his project was concerned.

And of course, one must not forget the small matter of the restless spirits, and the continued presence of Snoke at Skywalk.

Well, Hux had a good ten hours to consider these issues, and to come up with a declaration that would satisfy both Ren’s romantic disposition and his own desire for clarity.


	6. Where Ren proves fond of hyperboles

Hux made his way through the high grass, brushing aside damp flowers and weeds. A few feet ahead, the cliff dropped towards the sea. The wind brought forth the sound of the waves, crashing against the shore below.

'What is it?', he asked the watchful sentinel.

The woman was poised at the very edge of the cliff, looking down. The wind made a tangle of her brown curls and sent the hem of her shawl flapping behind her, like a banner on a high tower.

She did not answer his query, but pointed down, her small hand bone-white against the purple background of a stormy horizon.

Hux was about to walk towards her when he noticed something that made his blood run cold. ‘Behind you!’, he warned, in a strangled cry.

The lady turned around. Perhaps she had heard Hux's warning, or she might have felt the hideously disfigured hand that tugged at her shawl. She gripped the shawl and pulled back, but the hand held on. Hux rushed forward, for he could see the way she tottered, so close to the dented line of the cliff's edge. In his haste, he stumbled over a rock, and his feet slid unremittingly over the slippery grass.

 

 

 

 

He awoke with a start, recognizing the rattle of the carriage around him, the splatter of rain on the window and the discomfort of too many people sharing a cramped space. The woman beside him had pulled out a chicken's leg from her basket. The smell of meat and preserves permeated the damp air of the carriage.

Hux sniffed with barely concealed disdain and turned back towards the window.

The dream was already receding from his memory, but one image remained, as bright as if he had seen it in the momentary glare of a flash of lightning. The face of a creature, half-hidden behind the woman's skirts, its skin pale and soft-looking like the seams of a recent scar. It had looked at Hux as if it could see him, not only across that stormy dreamscape, but beyond it and into the carriage where Hux was now fully awake, trying to forget the steady stare of a pair of heavy-lidded eyes.

'Where are you going?'

The question had come from the man sitting across from him, a jovial fellow whose ruddy cheeks were partly covered by a very bushy beard. Hux had so far avoided any attempts at conversation. He had hoped his companions would go on ignoring him. Faced with the impending ordeal of social graces, he began to wish that he’d had the forethought to feign sleep during the remainder of the journey.

'The village of Saint-Jacques', he said, mentioning the name he had found on the itinerary of the stage-coach.

'Come again?', the man asked, pursing his lips, his beard quivering.

'He means _Jakku_ ', the woman at Hux's side corrected. She took another bite of her chicken leg, her large teeth tearing at the white flesh with obvious delight. 'That's the way they say it now. Haven't said it any different in a couple hundred years since the last invasion. He means that tiny village near the Bright Yard', she added, addressing the bearded man.

'What business would a fine fellow like you have in Jakku?', the man chortled.

Hux, however, was still focused upon the woman. One of the things she'd said had rung a bell, albeit a distant one.

'The Bright Yard?', he repeated.

He had heard that once, in passing. He remembered the voice - young, yet brimming with aristocratic languor. Someone at the ball, the night he'd met Ren.

'Yes', the woman said, leaning towards him. She went on in a conspiratorial tone, chewing all the while. 'The lightning always strikes in the same place up there, right over the old monastery.'

'It's never been a monastery', said the passenger sitting across from the woman, a sallow-faced youth whose red hair was a shade lighter than Hux's.

'No, that manor's belonged to the Skywalkers for about ten generations', the bearded man grinned. The white smile was a tad ominous in the dark forest of the beard. 'Never was a monastery, and that lightning story is a fib.'

'Are you calling me a liar?', the woman spat. 'I saw it with my own eyes! Five times, and it hit the exact same spot!'

'There's dark things going on up there, I don't deny that', the man shrugged. 'But that storm story is just an old woman's tale.'

'Are you calling me old, now?', the woman eructed.

'They call it the graveyard, because that house has seen more deaths in the past thirty years than the entire county', the young man told Hux.

'Nonsense', the bearded man roared. His full-bellied laugh echoed loudly inside the shambling carriage. ‘Stories, all of it. Foolish stories.’

'How do you explain the disappearances, then?', the woman sneered. She was so angry that she’d dumped her piece of chicken back in the basket and was now gesticulating wildly, her plump elbow digging into Hux's ribs. 'There have been quite a number of suspicious disappearances in Jakku', she whispered to Hux. 'Young people, women mostly.'

'I heard it was children', a voice piped up hesitantly on the woman's other side. It belonged to a young woman whose presence in the carriage had somehow slipped Hux’s notice.

'I am very close friends with the county magistrate, Mr Brown', the young man declared, 'and I can tell you in confidence that several young men and women have indeed disappeared. The authorities have yet to discover what happened to these poor souls...'

'Pfuh!', the bearded man scoffed. 'I'll tell you what's what. They all moved to town, that's what they did. That's what I would have done in their places, growing up in a tiny village like...'

'Jakku', the woman supplied.

'Aye', he agreed, nodding wisely. 'Anyone who grows up in such a place will want to leave father and mother behind.'

A thoughtful silence descended upon the carriage. The stage-coach was progressing uphill in such bad weather that it might as well have been night already. Rain kept pelting the windows, and Hux turned away from his fellow passengers once more, staring out at the blurred shapes of the passing trees.

 

 

 

 

When Hux arrived in Saint-Jacques, the weather was glorious. The sky was bright and clear above the roofs of the dozen or so houses lined up along the main street, and the sunshine glinted in the many puddles left by a recent rainfall. Hux walked into the first inn he found, which he suspected must have been the only one in the village. There, he had no trouble in hiring a cart to take him to Skywalk. The innkeeper, an affable man with great blond whiskers, recommended a young stable boy of his, and he insisted on offering Hux a pint of ale to wash away the taste of the long journey.

Hux had expected a dismal setting, with a rushed exchange of whispers at his back and perhaps shutters slamming as he walked past. But everyone in Saint-Jacques was either friendly or indifferent to his presence. After the air of mystery that had settled in the stage-coach, Hux was taken aback by the openness of the village, so much so that he dared a question, casually thrown at the innkeeper as he finished his pint.

‘Does the village ever interact with Skywalk?’

‘Ay, they buy food and sell some’, the innkeeper said. ‘Old John comes down every other week.’

Hux could have asked about the missing people, but the dreary talk of the stage-coach seemed far behind; clouds ushered off by a strong gust of wind. He wanted to enjoy the nice weather for as long as he could. A strange thought, that, when he’d always been wary of the sunshine, and of its effects upon his pale skin.

The ride back to Skywalk was even more uncomfortable than the stage-coach had been, though Hux did not experience it as such. He was too tired by then and the inventory of his many cramps and aches had ceased to be diverting hours ago. He did not even frown when it started to rain, a few miles away from the house, and merely congratulated himself on having brought a hat. He pulled the brim down over his eyes. The boy beside him did the same with his own hat, a battered thing that he must have inherited from a relative who’d already made much use of it. Hux was reminded of the odd fit of the greatcoat on his back. He wondered if he looked like a child, swaddled up in his parents’ clothes, playing dress-up with the castoffs of adults. What did it matter, besides? He had left society behind once more. There was no one to point at him and laugh, and even if there had been, what would they have seen in this heavy rain?

Hux lifted his feet onto the footboard and tucked his gloved hands under his armpits. He refused to think any further as the boy cracked his whip over the horse’s back, prompting the beast to ride faster towards the gathering storm.

 

 

 

 

The two Marys were in the kitchen. Hux had yet to see the oldest leave the room. Perhaps she never did. There was after all a threadbare rug laid out by the hearth, and though it would have been more appropriate for a dog than for a woman well past her prime, Hux had not seen any other sign suggesting the presence of an animal inside the house.

He ushered the boy inside the kitchen, pushing him towards the warm fireplace. The two women had stopped mid-action, the one holding a tureen and the other with her arms elbow-deep in a water basin. They gaped at Hux.

‘I would have sent word of my arrival, but I would have arrived ahead of the message’, Hux told them. ‘The boy is drenched. A bowl of soup might be in order... And perhaps a warm blanket.’

He was about to clap his hands, desperate to rouse them from their stupor, when the older Mary moved at last, heading towards the fire with a slow, heavy tread. She seized a wooden bowl from the mantelpiece, and filled it with to the brim with the soup cooking on the hob. Hux could smell the brew from the other side of the room, an enticing whiff of vegetables and parsley. He had to refrain from licking his lips.

‘I’ll... I’ll light a fire in your room immediately, Sir’, the younger Mary said. ‘I’m sorry, Sir. We weren’t warned you’d be coming back so soon. The room should have warmed up come dinnertime, but I’ll add some blankets just in case.’

‘Thank you’, Hux said. He looked on longingly as the boy brought the first spoonful of warm soup to his mouth. When this whole matter was resolved, he would ask for something to eat. Until then... ‘Do you know where I could find Sir Kylo?’, he asked, divesting himself of his hat and coat.

The girl glanced at the clock. ‘He came home two hours ago’, she said. ‘I haven’t seen him since. Should I go and look? I can ask the chambermaids if they know where he’s gone to.’

‘I will accompany you’, Hux decided.

Before he left the room, he remembered to toss the boy a coin for his troubles.

As they walked through the house, Hux got his first glimpse of the other servants. There were six of them at present, according to Mary, though most of them only worked in the manor from time to time. Mary caught one of the chambermaids at the turn of the stair and sent her to ready Hux’s room. They found the other two in one of the unused guestrooms, putting up a pair of newly cleaned curtains. Neither of the girls had seen Ren.

Mary led Hux to Ren’s room, and then to the library. By day, the room seemed even drearier than it had been in the middle of the night. Long shafts of light fell in between the shelves, throwing the contorted dimensions of the room into sharp relief. Ren was not in the library. Neither was he in the dining room, or in any of the three sitting rooms, although they found another servant in the last one, lighting a set of golden candelabras.

'Might be he's with the Count', the man said. 'Or up there', he added, lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

'Up there?', Hux repeated.

Mary shot the servant an irritated glance. 'Would you care to wait for me here, sir?', she asked. 'I will try to locate the master.'

'Why don't you go and see if he is with Lord Snoke, and I will go... Up there', Hux countered, answering the man's sly grin with a pinched scowl.

Mary hesitated, but not for long. Outside the room, she busied herself with a heavy set of keys and retrieved one that she handed to Hux.

'You have to climb up to the second floor and turn right. When you find the red tapestry with the wolves and the dead stag, turn right again. You'll find a set of stairs going up to the attic. The master likes to go up there when he wants to be alone. If he isn't there, it might be locked.'

‘If he isn’t there, I’ll come down’, Hux said. ‘I have no wish to snoop around the attic.’

'Maybe you'll find something', Mary said. ‘Something that will help him.’  
  
Before Hux could ask her to elaborate, he was struck by a new idea.  
  
‘Couldn’t we ask... the others?’, he asked.

Mary did not seem to understand the question, though Hux could not think of a way to rephrase it. If she had not been exposed to the same strange phenomena that had been plaguing him over the last few days, she was likely to recoil at the first mention of a ghost. She might even think him mad.

‘Let me know if you find him’, he said, slightly disappointed. ‘I’ll be in the attic.’

Hux had not quite abandoned his idea to try and appeal to the spirits on his own, but it seemed wiser not do it in the vicinity of the servants.

At the end of a corridor on the second floor, he found the tapestry Mary had mentioned. It was a wall-hanging of about twelve feet in length, where a pack of red-eyed wolves fell upon their prey. The broken-legged deer seemed to thrash as it sought to escape the wolves’ foaming muzzles, its eyes rolling back in its head. Hux resolutely turned his back on the upsetting scene.

Having ensured that no servant lingered in the corridor, he tried to summon the mischievous draft. 'You helped me once', he told the empty air. 'Can you take me to him?'

He waited, alert to every hint of a sound and to every ripple in the air around him. All he detected, however, was the whining and groaning of an old house, the nearby sound of cracking wood and a brush of cold air near his ankles, which must have come from the disjointed stones under a nearby windowsill.

'Fine', Hux grumbled, 'suit yourself.'

He resumed his ascent towards the attic, rounding the corner after the tapestry. As Mary had warned him, the following corridor ended with a rickety stairway. Some of the wooden steps were missing, and Hux was reluctant to step on the worm-eaten steps that remained. He had to remind himself that Ren must have climbed these stairs often, and if they could support a man such as Ren, then it was unlikely they would fall apart under Hux's featherlight weight.

The stairs ended with a plain wooden door. Hux knocked upon it, murmured 'Benjamin?', and then, louder, 'Ren?'. He tried the door and found it locked. Without thinking twice, he pulled the key from his pocket and turned it inside the lock.

He had not given much thought to what he might find in the attic. The word brought to mind a vision of cobwebbed rafters and dusty chests, of broken furniture and the dejections of rodents, perhaps with the odd bird skeleton.

The room he stepped into did not look like an attic at all. Hux felt as if he had stumbled upon some fabled hoard. Precious China cabinets stood alongside mannequins in faded crinolines. The floor was covered in thick, dark-coloured rugs, patterned with endless swirls and arabesques. Draperies hung from the slanted ceiling, falling haphazardly over the back of couches. The drapes made the room seem far larger than it was, and having walked around a first curtain Hux got a glimpse of the far end of the attic, where a fresco took up most of the back wall. It seemed to depict a battle of some sort.

Hux tried to determine what it was that made this room different from the rest of the house. The attic was as cluttered as any other room, with that same indistinguishable blend of precious objects and sentimental keepsakes. Yet something in the room bothered him. It took the thin slant of light coming from a nearby oculus for him to understand.

This room belonged to Ren, in a way that the lord’s bedroom had not. The light fell upon the dominant colour red, in the washed-out velvet of a couch, in the silk embroidery of a chair, in the crimson hues of a painting depicting a sunset in a foreign country. A mannequin by the door was dressed up in the waistcoat Ren had worn for the Duchess’s ball. Hux ran cautious fingers over the silver embroidery, and then leaned down, distracted, to retrieve a wooden ship from atop a chest. What he had thought to be a toy was in fact a miniature replica made with exquisite precision, down to the network of strings holding the sails aloft. The figurehead seemed to be a bird, its wings extended.

His attention strayed once again, captured by a series of framed paintings propped up against a nearby wall. The first was a portrait of General Organa, though it must have been made quite some time ago, for she was still a very young woman, dressed in a dress of virginal white. Hux recognized her by the bright sharpness of her gaze. It reminded him, more than ever, of a bird of prey. He lifted the painting slightly to take a look at the one behind it. A man’s portrait this time, though Hux had no idea whom it represented. Ren’s father, perhaps. The man wore the uniform of a captain, though it didn’t suit him. His roguish grin suggested a wildness that no uniform could contain.

Hux lifted that portrait as well and felt his breath catch in his throat. There, against a plain grey background, was a young Ren, with eyes of molten gold, his short black curls failing to hide his prominent ears. He must have been ten or twelve years old, strapped in a little blue and grey costume. Hux pulled out the portrait without quite knowing what he wanted to do with it – it seemed a shame to keep it hidden – and in the process, he uncovered yet another painting. He stared at it, eyes wide.

The painting depicted a young woman wearing a dark blue dress. Her dark hair was piled up over her head in an elaborate construct, dotted with white flowers and grey pearls. Hux had seen these perfect features before, in many a troubled dream. The frame bore a small metal plate. _Padme Amidala, Lady of Skywalk._

Hux carefully put the paintings back in place. He was in no mood to ponder how and why he could have dreamed of one of Ren’s relatives. It was obvious now that the woman had Ren’s mouth, finely drawn, but slightly too large for her face.

Hux snooped around the attic some more, remembering Mary’s words, wondering what she might have meant. _Something that will help him._

Being close to one of the bookshelves, he picked up a thick leather-bound book. He opened a page at random and noticed with some surprise that the book was handwritten. The writing was full of unnecessary flourishes, as if the words were a tangle of ivy, letters ending above or below their line in dramatic spirals of pitch-black ink. Thankfully, the contents of the page remained moderately legible.

_I will always remember standing on the beach that fateful night, holding a lantern far above my head, my eyes straining against the malevolent clouds of a raging storm. Whatever shall come to pass, I will forever return to this moment. Waiting for the first glimpse of a sail, hearing by some trick of my worried mind the sound of wooden planks splintering against the rocks, and the forlorn calls of the drowning sailors, their throats already full of briny water._

Hux wondered if he had stumbled upon the manuscript for a novel. Flipping back through the pages, he found out that the protagonist had precipitated the shipwreck, guiding the ship to its doom with a red lantern.

Yet the passage bore a date. It had been written less than a year ago. Bemused, Hux turned back towards the bookshelf. This was not the manuscript for an unpublished novel. It was Ren’s personal journal. There were more than a dozen volumes, all bound in red leather, filled to the brim with page upon page of Ren’s absurd handwriting.

Hux turned back to the account of the shipwreck. Despite Ren’s propensity for dramatic excess, there was something deeply unsettling about the tale. He went back another few pages, trying to find the story’s starting point. A single sentence, glimpsed in passing in the middle of a page, caught his attention.

_Master Snoke having made this demand of me, I find I cannot succumb to cowardice, no matter how extraordinary the order, or how heavily it might weigh upon my tortured conscience._

It appeared that Snoke had told Ren to lure the ship towards the creek, though Ren was not particularly specific as to why the order had been given.

Hux kept skimming through the journal. He had trouble making sense of Ren’s ramblings. The young lord had a tendency to describe the rain with a variety of adjectives that always boiled down to the same essential truth (the rain was wet). He repetitively described himself as a ‘monster’ and an ‘aberration’, though it was difficult to say if that was a recent development, or a lifelong concern. The tale of the shipwreck was followed by a rather harrowing scene, where the family dog turned against Ren and bit him. But the dramatic effect was lessened by the plaintive tone of Ren’s writing. If the journal had been a novel, Hux would have abandoned it by then, having had his fill of the protagonist’s constant whining.

The pages that Hux read made it clear that Ren resented Snoke’s orders, though he would not disobey them, even though (and there, the ramblings became even more unclear), ‘he’ kept urging him to stand up to the conniving lord.

 _He wishes so desperately to speak to me,_ Ren wrote, _but I have resolved to ignore him. As Master Snoke never ceases to remind me, while the dead may serve our purpose, we should not feel obliged to acknowledge them. They are nothing but shades of their former selves._

_I am increasingly troubled by my father’s shadow, however. He is always lurking at the edge of my vision, begging me to notice him – to disobey my master’s orders. His insistence confuses me – does he not know that I killed him? That I was the one who guided the Falcon to its doom with my false light? Why he should still want to speak to me is beyond me._

_He does not understand, besides, why I cannot give in. If I did speak to him, his ghost would vanish. I am not ready, yet, to let him go._

Hux thought of the painting of the man in the captain’s uniform, with the smile that suggested a world of deceitful wiles, perhaps tempered at times by a spark of kindness.

The following pages were more of the same. Ren was consumed by guilt regarding the death of his father, to the point that he kept returning to the creek where the ship had sunk. There followed lengthy descriptions of the rotting carcass of the ship, which Ren haunted with stubborn dedication, though he still refused to acknowledge his father’s ghost.

Ren also made several allusions to Snoke’s ‘experiments’, but he did not go into any details in the journal that Hux had in hand, obsessed as he was by his father’s demise. Though Hux knew he should have focused on Snoke, he couldn’t repress a rather vain impulse to read his own name written in Ren’s hand. He kept turning the pages until he found it.

The first entry that mentioned him had been written the very night of the ball, in far hastier a hand than the pages Hux had read so far – including, he noted with some satisfaction, the ones that depicted the shipwreck. For a few pages, Ren had been under the delusion that Hux was called ‘Hucks’, a mistake he had later returned to correct.

_I made tonight the most unexpected encounter. Following Master Snoke’s orders, I attended the Duchess’s ball in the hope of finding the innocent soul required for our latest experiment. (I have told my Master time and again that I believe this experience is doomed to fail. It is my firm belief that we should focus instead on my grandfather’s ideas, particularly regarding the materialization of spirits. If only Master Snoke would help me lure out my grandfather’s ghost, for as much as my father’s keeps pestering me, Anakin has yet to favour me with an apparition)._

_But I digress. While I was ~~hiding~~ in the library, perusing one of the Duchess’ books on witchcraft, I received the visit of some irritating buffoon, whom I had met months ago during a hunting retreat at Lord M**’s estate. The buffoon was accompanied by a young man with fiery hair, as tall as he was slender. In the light of what happened later on, I find it difficult to recount my first impressions. They were not very promising, since I had been interrupted in the middle of a captivating chapter about rejuvenating spells._

_Thus, upon meeting Armitage ~~Hucks~~ Hux, I was unwilling to be anything but cold and silent. I could not fail to notice, however, that there was a strange tenseness to Mr ~~Hucks~~ Hux. I was proven right when my regal indifference succeeded in provoking his ire. Never before had I seen such a temper, at once burning and infinitely controlled, not unlike the focused strike of a lightning bolt. Mr ~~Hucks~~ Hux’s reputation has been sullied, it seems, by a shameful past, though I do not know the details. Nor do I wish to know them, since I would be in tremendous trouble if he came to learn about my own past._

_Dare I say that I hope his past is as dire as my own, and that our secrets are one and the same, irremediably stained with the blood of severed family ties?_

There followed another page of the same nonsense, where Ren reflected further upon Hux's outburst. He wasted a great many metaphors on the first minutes of their meeting – he was the thunder and Hux the lightning, and every step Hux took towards him had been like ‘a step wrenching a hollow sound from a newly-covered grave’. By comparison, Ren was surprisingly curt when it came to recounting what had happened next.

‘ _There passed a moment during which neither of us spoke_ ’, Hux read aloud, disbelievingly. ‘Really, Ren?’

He looked up, startled. He could have sworn that he had heard something, though the sound had come from a distance. Worried that he would soon be disturbed, he began to turn the pages faster, snatching mere fragments of Ren’s increasingly frantic writing.

_... Why would Anakin’s ghost appear to Hux, rather than me? I am his grandson! My entire life has been spent trying to capture his attention, and the only time he does manifest himself, he chooses to give that dead-eyed upstart a book and a letter that should by right belong to me..._

_... Living in this house, time seems to slow down and stop, and one’s very soul seeps into the floorboards and under the crinkling wallpapers, until all that is left of the self is an empty shell..._

_... Would that someone could stitch my soul back on like an ill-fitting coat..._

_... I must have gone mad. For a moment in the dining room, I would have given up everything, this house and my powers and Snoke’s godlike designs, just for another touch of Hux’s hands. What good are Snoke’s promises, of an undisturbed spirit, or of an endless life, when such earthly delights could be gone in a moment, should I fail to seize them?..._

_... Snoke has required my presence tonight. I could not say whether he wishes to make up for the days he wasted, blabbering away with Hux about Hosnian Square, or whether he wants to keep me from spending time with Hux..._

The sound was unmistakable this time. Someone was ascending the staircase leading to the attic. Hux skipped to the last entries, taking in another few words before the inevitable interruption.

_...We are reconciled. Yet I fear that my treacherous heart shall not be content until..._

__

_...I have been deceived. Was there ever such a fool..._

...All that remains is a broken hull. My sole inheritance.

‘Mr Hux?’

Hux slammed the book shut. Mary was looking at him from the doorway.

‘I am sorry to disturb you’, she said. ‘Sir Kylo was not with Lord Snoke. I fear he might have left the house, though we were not made aware of his intentions.’

‘Does Lord Snoke know that I have returned?’, Hux asked, wondering why he was dreading the answer to that question.

‘He does’, Mary said, looking distinctly uncomfortable. ‘I told him you were back. I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you intended, sir, but...’

‘Never mind’, Hux said. ‘He would have found out soon enough.’ He looked down at the journal. He was unwilling to return it, although he knew that Ren would likely be angry to find out Hux had read his private thoughts. With a sigh, he put it back in place.

‘Did you find anything?’, Mary asked. She hovered hesitantly by the door, as if she did not dare step in. Her clear eyes roamed over the room before her, taking everything in.

‘Does anyone else have a key to this room?’, Hux asked, his curiosity picked.

‘Oh, no.’ Mary shook her head. ‘We've been told to stay away from the attics. The stairs are too damaged. No one comes up here. I’m not sure Sir Kylo even knows that I've got a key. My father used to have the keys to all the rooms in the house, including keys that don’t open anything. And there’s also rooms that don’t have a key, and where no one can go, including Sir Kylo.’

‘Will you mind if I hold onto this one?’, Hux said, showing her the key to the attic.

‘I suppose not’, Mary replied, with a languorous shrug. ‘But then if you don’t mind, sir, I’d rather Sir Kylo didn’t know where you got it from.’

‘I see no reason why I should tell him.’  
  
Hux drummed his fingers against the bookshelf, thinking back to what he had recently read. _All that remains is a broken hull._ His eyes fell upon the model ship.

‘Mary, is there a wreck around here?’, he asked.

The creek would have to be close, if Ren had haunted it day and night for a sustained period of time, as the journal would have him believe.

‘Yes, of course’, she said. ‘The Millenium Falcon. It sank less than a mile from here.’  
  
‘The Millenium Falcon’, Hux murmured.

He had heard of that ship before. Though he had had other concerns at the time than the fate of some lesser corvette, Phasma had taken an interest in the case. The ship’s captain was a famous smuggler, turned over to the King’s cause. When the Millenium Falcon had sunk, there had been talk that the captain might have returned to his old ways, losing his life – and his ship – in the process.

‘Is the wreck accessible?’

‘If it didn’t rain so much, maybe’, Mary said. ‘You can see it when you lean over the cliffs. There’s stairs cut into the rocks that lead down to the beach, and I used to think I’d go down there one day and look, but with the rain it’s always so slippery...’

Hux was hardly listening anymore. He recalled the dream that he had had in the stage-coach, with the beautiful woman who looked so much like the portrait of Ren’s ancestor. She had been standing at the cliff’s edge, pointing down...

‘Excuse me’, Hux muttered.

Shoving past Mary, he launched himself down the broken staircase, taking the steps two at a time.

 _Wait for me,_ he thought, as if the order might travel upon the wind and reach Ren. _Don’t you go drown yourself!_

He retraced his steps back to the first floor, all the way to the service wing. Mary’s mother barely had time to look up as he barreled into the kitchen, shoulder catching against a shelf, leaving a row of pots and pans clanking in his wake.

The cook abandoned her stew, and the stable boy set down his soup. They both walked to the service door and watched as Hux dashed off towards the cliffs, heedless of the pouring rain, with the frantic pace and the rattled demeanour of a man gone mad.


	7. Where it is still raining

If Hux had thought that the stairs leading to the attic were perilous, he had to revise that statement once he reached the edge of the cliffs. A path tumbled down the rock face in a near-vertical line. There were steps and, at times, grips carved into the face of the cliff, but the path was swept by a howling wind, and the steps were slick with rain.

Hux wiped the water from his eyes and gazed down at the bottom of the cliffs. But the downpour was not the only thing impeding his vision. A thick mist had risen from the creek, insinuating itself in the gulley and masking the beach and the sea.

'I'll break my neck', Hux muttered, shuffling his feet as he stared at the drop. He could feel the void calling to him and it took all his willpower not to step back.

Lightning struck in the distance, followed within seconds by the drawn-out growl of thunder. While the cliff’s edge was illuminated, Hux glimpsed something in a crevice. A rope, tied tight about the topmost rock, snaking down along the path.

Hux thought of his bright future, of a brand new Hosnian Square, the houses forced into a pattern that suited the contours of his well-ordered mind. He took this vision and crushed it. Every white wall and every underground angle of a perfect pipe was made to disappear, swept aside by this one pressing matter - Ren, a wide-eyed boy in a child-sized uniform, wandering a haunted house, or a grimacing youth, teeth bared and lips trembling as he raised a red lantern towards a raging storm, or a man with the persisting flaws of a child, his grudges too vicious, his desires too blunt.

Hux seized the rope. He'd left his gloves behind, he couldn't even remember where. As he began to ease himself down into the darkness, he kept his eyes level with the rocks in front of him, knowing that if he so much as ventured a glance at the void beneath his feet, he would become utterly paralysed. Planting his heels flat against the surface of the cliff, he sought his balance. Only then did he begin to descend, slowly, seeking out the outcroppings of rock on the sides of the path and any other uneven surface that wouldn’t be perilously smooth and slippery.

The fog quickly engulfed him. It settled over the cliffs like a thick grey blanket, smothering the sound of the sea. The wind itself could not penetrate it entirely. Instead of the life-threatening gusts Hux had been expecting, the wind played the part of a treacherous ghost, hugging his back, slipping icy fingers beneath his shirt.

There was no saying how far down he was. The cliff above disappeared, and though he avoided looking below, he knew that more likely than not, there was nothing to see there either, except the pale, swirling fog. He was so wet that he had given up on wiping the rain from his eyes. Instead, he moved by touch alone, his booted feet slipping on the sleek steps and dipping into puddles, his hands moving down the rope at a snake's pace, every inch hard-won as the frayed hemp scraped his palms, rubbing grit into newly-made scratches. Hux was acutely aware of the cold, which threatened to shatter him into so many frozen pieces; and yet, at the same time, his whole body seemed about to combust, from his burning hands to the taut muscles of his arms and legs.

If there had been any point in doing so, Hux might have doubted himself. Since he had begun to make his way down, however, any hesitation would have been a waste of his focus. It took all his energy to maintain his precarious position, with only the soles of his boots and his numb fingers keeping him safe from a deadly fall.

He kept telling himself that he would lash out once he was on the ground - all thoughts of a reconciliation had been temporarily forgotten, replaced by a burning desire to scold Ren to death and beyond. How could he have thought that climbing down a cliff in the middle of a rainstorm was a good idea? Not to mention that if this was indeed the only way down, he would later have to climb back up. As this particular thought was unbearable in his present circumstances, Hux discarded it, returning to the litany of insults that he intended to impart on Ren.

Eventually, he lost even the ability to think. His mumbled slurs barely made it past his chattering teeth. He was only faintly conscious of the rivulets of blood trickling down his wrists from the torn skin of his fingers and palms. In the trance-like state brought about by his exhaustion and the penetrating cold, Hux fell prey to strange hallucinations. For a while, he was certain that there was someone on his left, scaling the wall as he did, though outside of the path, and without a rope. The figure was little more than a dark, bulky shape in the surrounding fog. Hux tried to distinguish its features, but this lapse in concentration caused him to slip on one of the steps. He returned his attention to the rock face, head drawn between his shoulders to avoid what rain he could. There was something comforting about this ghostly companion, who risked far more than Hux by going down without the safety of a rope. Hux would glance left every few steps, catch a glimpse of a darker shadow, and resume his descent with renewed faith in the feasibility of the climb.

Eventually, he fell into a semblance of a rhythm, holding on to the rope as he braced one foot against the vertical slab of a step, while he reached down with his other foot, in search of a crack in the rocks, anything but the slippery surface of the steps. His caution never wavered, and in the end he was not betrayed by a lack of concentration, but by a clod, against which he tried to wedge his toes.

The wet patch of soil and weeds gave way, and Hux began to slide irremediably backwards, unable at first to comprehend what was happening. His left foot was pulled from a narrow gap in the face of the cliff, while his right knee collided with one of the steps. He tried to regain his footing, holding on to the rope with one hand while the other scrabbled against wet stone - and then he was sliding again.

With harrowing clarity, he sensed the moment when he would release the rope. His final thought was one of anger.

_What a pointless death!_

He let go.

One second he was falling, gravity pulling him into the chasm. The next, something collided with his back, propelling him onto the path. Hux remained face down against the vertiginous stairway, unable to move, a heavy weight pressing down upon him. Assuredly not a boulder, for the thing on his back was soft, despite its constricting weight. Hux breathed in broken wheezes, with the distinct feeling that he was drowning, his eyes and mouth full of rainwater, his cheek dipping into a puddle in the middle of a sunken step.

He could not look behind him without endangering himself further, but from his precarious position, he saw a hand creeping upwards alongside his face, so pale it might have belonged to a skeleton. The bony fingers gripped the soggy rope and brought it within his reach. Hux seized it, ignoring the way his whole body protested at the renewed friction of rough hemp against raw skin. It was only when he had a firm grasp of the rope, both hands wound tight around it, that the weight on his back lifted.

Still he could not afford to look back. Wedging his knee into the corner of a step, he felt around with his other foot until he had found a suitable hold. Then, and only then, did he dare to unpeel his battered body from the stairway.

His eyes darted to the left before he could think better of it. He did not linger, and within the space of a harsh exhale his eyes had returned to the wall before him, and he was progressing downwards once again.

In the span of that short-lived glance, however, he had seen his saviour, holding on tight to an outcropping of rock, less than a foot to the left. A creature cloaked in darkness, with heavy-lidded eyes in a pale, hairless face, the skin scorched around the eyes, burnt and bloated above the brow.

This vision would have broken stronger spirits. Hux’s strength, however, did not lie in his rational mind, but in his ability to adapt to any set of circumstances. The misshapen creature scared him far less at present than it had when he had seen it earlier, hiding behind the woman’s skirts. Now that it had proven to be an ally, Hux felt confident that he could focus on the descent, and ignore it entirely. The creature would help him if it could – and in the meantime, it fell to him to avoid putting himself in a situation where nothing could save him, not even a ghost.

When his searching foot found sand instead of slippery stones, Hux thought he was hallucinating. Yet upon looking down, he saw that he had reached the bottom of the cliff. The mist had lifted, and in one sweeping glance, Hux took in the narrow creek and the sandy beach, littered with driftwood and broken shells. About three hundred feet away, the enormous wreck of the _Millenium Falcon_ looked like a crouching beast, its broken masts buried deep in the sand.

Hux finally released the rope. He took a tentative step and latched onto the rocks for support as his legs threatened to give. The sight of the boat, however, had given him courage. It also occurred to him that he might find shelter under the capsized hull, for the rain was still beating down hard upon his bare head and hunched shoulders.

When he cast one last look back towards the cliff, he saw no trace of his strange companion. Well past surprise at this point, Hux whispered a word of thanks, and began to hobble towards the boat.

 

 

 

 

He walked around the exposed keel, picking his way among dark green clumps of algae and broken shells. When he reached the now vertical deck, he saw that rocks had been stacked below it, forming a series of makeshift steps. The steps led to another rope, which disappeared into a large hole, ten or twelve feet above. Hux wrapped his hands as well he could inside his cuffs, and started to climb towards the opening.

It occurred to him that if he had known how to cry, he might have done so, if only to find some release from the endless frustration of the endeavour. But he’d never been one to cry, even as a child. ‘He’s frighteningly silent’, the nurse had said, once, though she knew he was well within earshot. ‘It’s unnatural.’

Once he reached the end of the rope, he swung his legs over the hole, and lowered himself into what had once been a small cabin. The numbing clamour of the storm receded, though the room was not without its own rumours. One of the walls was gone, and it revealed a grim landscape of dimly echoing depths. Hux was fairly sure he could see all the way to the bow, across fallen walls and torn down floors. It looked as if someone had torn away the hull to provide a cross-section of the ship.

The _Millenium Falcon_ was not exactly the shelter Hux had hoped for. Its broken carcass took in water from all sides. High above Hux’s head, shattered boards let in translucent curtains of rain enclosed in shafts of darkened light. The closest sounds were the groaning of the wood and a steady dripping, met further down by the gurgling and sloshing of a substantial body of water. Assembled, these noises served as tell-tale signs of the wreck’s impending demise, especially if the storms lasted.

‘Ren?’, Hux called out hoarsely. He sneezed, cleared his throat, and tried again, louder this time. His voice reverberated throughout the ship, as if so many Huxes had been sitting in the shadows, waiting to take up the call.

He heard a noise behind him, a muted shuffling and banging about. He turned to face what had once been the door to another cabin. The general shift in perspective had caused it to climb halfway up the wall, and it was now horizontal, the doorknob level with Hux’s face. The panel swung downwards, and Hux hastily stepped back.

‘Hux?’

Ren’s head appeared in the opening. He did not look startled so much as... Horrified, Hux decided, with a pang of disappointment. Such a reaction came woefully short of rewarding his death-defying deeds.

‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost’, Hux said.

Wordlessly, Ren reached through the door, holding out his hand. Hux found a broken crate to push against the wall so he could climb though the door. He accepted Ren’s hand without thinking, wincing as his broken skin came in contact with Ren’s glove. He missed the exact moment when it happened, but Ren’s face changed as he made his way into the other cabin. The look of unspeakable dread disappeared. Ren’s features assumed their default expression of perennial despair. The moment Hux’s feet touched the ground, or rather, what had once been the side wall of the cabin, Ren gathered him into a rough embrace, his long arms winding around Hux’s back and holding on far too tight.

‘You’re choking me’, Hux muttered, but Ren’s clothes were quite dry, and he had to resist the urge to rub his cheek against the soft fabric of his collar.

Ren took a step back and caught one of Hux’s hands, his eyes wide. ‘What happened to your hands?’

‘What do you think’, Hux said, with less heat than intended. He simply did not have the energy for a fight. ‘I climbed down a cliff.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me there was another way down.’

‘There isn’t’, Ren said. He had not let go of Hux’s hand, though he held it with the utmost care, wary of the rope burns. ‘No other way down, or up, for that matter.’

‘Let’s not discuss that right now’, Hux muttered.

‘I will tend to your wounds’, Ren declared. He went to rummage in a corner of the cabin.

‘I wouldn’t call them wounds’, Hux said brazenly, though now that he did not have to worry about falling off a cliff in the middle of a storm, he realized that the pain was difficult to ignore.

He looked around the capsized cabin. There wasn’t much left in the way of furniture and belongings, though Ren appeared to have carved himself a corner that was as comfortable as could be, given the circumstances. Hux watched him extract a piece of cloth from a canvas bag and tear it to shreds. He moved forward obediently when Ren produced a flask, and tried not to wince when the alcohol came into contact with his bloody hands.

‘Look at you, one would think you’ve been doing this all your life’, he said, the mockery driven out of his voice by exhaustion, as Ren tried to tie the strips of fabric around his hands.

‘I am _trying_ ’, Ren muttered, the tension perceptible in his voice, and in his repeated attempts at making a suitable knot.

Hux relented, bringing up the one hand that Ren had successfully bandaged to cover Ren’s shaking fingers.

‘It’s alright’, he whispered. Suddenly, he remembered what he had come here to say. 'Don't you dare disappear again', he ordered, finding Ren's wrist, cold fingers stroking warm skin. 'I need...'

'You don't need me', Ren interrupted. 'You have that pug-faced officer.'

Hux snorted. Mitaka certainly did not deserve the slight, though perhaps it was better, at present, to let it slide.

'Fine, I don't need you', he said. ‘I... would rather you were well.'

'You care about me', Ren translated.

Hux, who had willingly withheld such a straightforward confession, could not help from cringing.

'I suppose I do', he sighed. 'Will that suffice, for now?'

'Yes', Ren said, with a short-lived smile. He leaned in for a kiss, brief but searing, and then motioned for Hux to join him in the corner of the cabin. 'You should rest', he said.

'We need to talk', Hux countered, although there was little he wanted to do less in that moment. All he could think about was the warmth of Ren's body and the softness of his clothes. He knew that if he could just sink against Ren's chest, eyes shut tight against the velvet of his waistcoat, he would fall asleep instantly, despite the ominous creaking of the wreck and the distant howls of the wind.

They sat against a pile of burlap sacks and leather trunks. The corner was a magpie’s nest of things that Ren had filched during his exploration of the boat. Nautical instruments and heavy piles of coiled ropes. Cutlery from the kitchen, a surgeon’s kit, a chessboard missing its pieces. The personal belongings of sailors, pocket watches and a comb and a big ivory die.

But how Ren could stand to spend time in the wreck was still a mystery to Hux. The ship was damp and draughty, and the regular creaking sounds served as a reminder that it might come apart at any given moment.

‘How do you not get cold?’, Hux asked, rubbing his arms through the drenched fabric of his shirt.

‘I keep spare clothes in one of the trunks’, Ren explained.

Twisting around, he dug inside one of the leather trunks, eventually coming up with a cotton shirt and a pair of trousers. As Hux divested himself of his soggy clothes, he found the key to the attic, which he slipped inside the pocket of the borrowed trousers. Sitting back down, he finally gave into the urge to huddle at Ren’s side, letting out a contented sigh when Ren’s arm automatically came up to settle across his shoulders.

‘I could get used to this’, he mumbled.

‘You don’t mean the ship’, Ren noted.

‘No, Ren, I don’t mean the ship’, Hux scoffed.

He hesitated for a split-second before he reached into his pocket and retrieved the key.

'Here', he said, handing it over.

Ren took it without thinking. When he realized what it was, he turned towards Hux, eyebrows raised.

'How...?'

'Does it matter?', Hux shrugged. 'You can have it back. Let us establish a basis of... Trust, or some such thing.'

'Did you...'

'Yes', Hux said, unable to repress a mischievous grin. 'Your lurid prose would...'

'Bloody hell!', Ren exclaimed, drawing back so fast he banged his head against an upside-down chair. 'This wasn't meant to be read! By anyone, let alone someone that I... I use these journals to exorcize my thoughts.'

'I apologize', Hux said, trying to refrain from laughing. 'I was looking for a clue as to where you'd gone.'

'Did you read about... How much did you read?'

'Not much', Hux admitted. 'Although, I did read about the _Millenium Falcon._ '

Ren tried to turn away, but Hux moved closer, fisting a bandaged hand in the fabric of Ren's trousers.

'I wouldn't be here otherwise. Now tell me. Why did Snoke ask you to do it?'

'He wanted... There are different reasons', Ren ventured. 'I don't know that it would be reasonable to...'

'Just tell me. Enough with the secrets and the air of tragic mystery. Haven't we made enough of a dent already? I know that there are ghosts at Skywalk. I know that you caused your father's death.'

Ren grasped Hux's hand, seemed to remember the clumsy bandage, and settled for Hux's wrist instead, his hand fitting easily around it.

'I believe this was his main goal', he said. 'Whatever other reasons he gave me, they were accessory.'

'What do you mean?

'He wanted me to kill my father. I think that... That is to say, based upon a letter my mother sent me, I know that my father intended to speak to me. Both my parents and my uncle were... Weary, one might say, of my master's influence.'

'Was there no easier way to prevent this talk than to cause a shipwreck?'

Ren laughed bitterly, the low rumble reverberating along Hux's side. 'You are always so cautious with your words, and yet you ask me if there was an _easier_ way to _kill my father_. No, Hux, I don't think there was an easier way.'

'I'll admit I could have phrased it better', Hux sighed. 'Fine. Snoke asked you to wreck your father's ship. Instead of, say, a hunting accident, or even poison - I would be wary of what I drink, if I were you, by the way.'

'Oh, Snoke won't assassinate me', Ren said. His boastful confidence was grating enough that Hux considered retrieving the hand Ren was absently fondling. 'He needs me', Ren insisted.

'Why?', Hux asked.

‘Because he cannot use the spirits, and I can.’

Hux was so used to not getting answers to his questions that for a moment, he was too startled to speak. Ren must have thought this silence was an invitation to go on, and to Hux’s continued surprise, he did.

‘I have always seen them, for as long as I can remember. But it wasn’t until I met Master Snoke that I knew that there was a way to get rid of them.’

‘When you say you _see_ them...’ Hux took a deep breath, and bid logic and reason farewell. ‘What do you see, exactly?’

‘I see them as they were’, Ren said. ‘Men and women. Children. They usually retain the appearance they had when they died... Not always. Sometimes they long for a period of their lives long past, and they latch onto it. The Duchess... The lady who owns the house where we met. She asked me to communicate with her sister. Her sister died at sixty-four, but when I saw her, she looked like a young girl, because that’s when she had last seen the house. And often they drift back to places that had a great impact on their lives.’

‘You’re straying’, Hux said weakly. ‘Let us return to Snoke.’

‘My uncle’, Ren began, but as Hux let out a disgruntled huff against his neck, he clarified, ‘There are certain things that you need to understand. I will tell you about Snoke, however...’

‘Make haste’, Hux grumbled.

He might have suggested that they wait until they were home to pursue this conversation. But he worried that a delay would cause Ren to change his mind. Moreover, the way back to the house involved the cliff, and its nightmarish stairway. So Hux let Ren resume his tale.

‘My uncle said it was a gift of power, this ability to see things that others could not see. It is stronger in certain people, in certain bloodlines. My mother can sense them, but her power is nowhere as... Hectic, as mine, or my uncle’s.’

‘What about me?’, Hux asked. ‘I can sense them too. I saw one, by the cliff, earlier. And I dreamed about an ancestor of yours.’

Ren looked down at him with some curiosity. ‘Why did you not tell me? I might have been able to help.’

Hux did not dignify that with an answer.

‘It has to do with the house, for the most part’, Ren explained. ‘If you were sensitive to them, you would have seen them elsewhere. There was one in the library the night we met, for instance... The ghost of an old servant. I never dealt with it because the Duchess said she would rather have it remain in the house.’

‘There was a ghost in the library’, Hux repeated drily.

‘Yes, at first, yes’, Ren mumbled, flustered. ‘It left when you...’

‘Right. You were talking about the house.’

‘My grandfather bought Skywalk because he knew it was a place of convergence’, Ren said. ‘Spirits flock to the house like moths to a flame.’

‘Can Snoke see them?’

‘Yes’, Ren said, though he quickly amended, ‘Well, he cannot see them with his own eyes, but he has devised an instrument that enables him to see their energy, what they are made of. In a sense, he sees their true shape, where I only see a residue... A projection of their old selves.’

‘Why would he want to see them?’

‘I used to wonder that myself’, Ren said. ‘As a child, I would have done anything to be rid of that ability. Until Snoke arrived, it was nothing but a burden.’

‘Yet you described it as power’, Hux noted.

‘Power isn’t always a source of gratification’, Ren declared, sententious.

Hux swatted his knee. ‘Please say something relevant, before I strangle you.’

‘This power doesn’t come with a set of rules’, Ren said. ‘Many have tried to ascribe a meaning to it, and to convince themselves, and others, that their belief was the absolute truth. My grandfather, for instance, was hired by an emperor who thought the ghosts could be brought back to life, or at least given sufficient materiality that they might serve in his wars...’

‘You’re digressing again’, Hux interrupted, though this time the quip sounded nearly fond. It disturbed him greatly.

‘Sorry’, Ren said. ‘Where was I?’

‘The meaning of your... power.’

‘Yes... My uncle’s belief is that we have been chosen to guide these wayward spirits to the Light. According to him, we must uncover the reason why they are still haunting this earth. Then it is our duty to help them find peace, and only then will they disappear, and leave us be.’

‘So you can communicate with them?’

‘More or less’, Ren shrugged. ‘They do not retain the ability to speak, but those among them who are willing to communicate find different ways. Some can be... Aggressive. When they have been trapped here a long time... I need you to understand this. What it would mean, to bear this burden as a child.’

‘Oh, I can’, Hux said.

It was not a difficult thing to do, to picture Ren as he had seen him in the painting, a boy with hair like an ink spill and protruding ears, staring anxiously at the door of his room, wondering who, or what, would come through. An old man with a burning glare, or a long-haired shadow, missing a limb or two...

Hux remembered the loneliness of his own room, the stifling barrier of the curtains around his bed. He had longed for company then, be it that of a ghost.

‘If we had met’, he whispered foolishly. He knew it made no sense – even if they had known each other as children, they would hardly have been allowed to spend enough time together that it would have made a difference. Ren must have understood the sentiment, though, for he lifted his arm once again, and let Hux subside against his side. Hux was quite conscious that the position would make it more difficult to remain alert, but the warmth was too alluring, as was the dizzying proximity of Ren’s body.

‘Snoke arrived when I was about fourteen years old’, Ren said. ‘By then my mother had left Skywalk – my father and her were often at sea, but when she did come home, she preferred the capital to the old house. My uncle was the one who inhabited Skywalk. He turned it into a retreat for people with similar _abilities_... Children, mostly, including myself. Snoke arrived one winter. I can still remember the day. Nobody expected him. The roads had been snowed in, and yet, suddenly, there he was, waiting on the porch with a trunk filled with old books, and the strangest garb – his collar and hat were made of a mesmerizing fur. If you looked at it in the right light, you would see variations of colour the like of which I have never seen since. The greys of ash and coal, and the off-white of a coat of snow atop a layer of rocks. The pale blue of ice, running into the blacks of slate and tar. Rey and I... Rey was another of the children my uncle had taken on. Rey and I had snuck into Master Snoke’s room, and he caught us rubbing our cheeks against that silver fur. That was to be the extent of our first conversation. He told us it was silver fox, and that he had hunted it himself, in the cold forests of the East.’

Ren was digressing once more, though Hux did not have it in him to interrupt him again. In his state of exhaustion, he had fallen under Ren’s spell, hanging onto his every word. He doubted that anything could have made him move in that moment. The wreck could have come apart and still he would have remained tucked into Ren’s side, stealing his warmth with something close to contentment.

‘Snoke taught me that I didn’t have to listen to them’, Ren said. ‘There was an easier way, one that my uncle had hidden from me. Instead of going to the trouble of conversing with the ghosts, I can... Make them disappear. Like I would snuff a candle. The one time I opened myself to my uncle about this, against my Master’s orders, I should add... He said this was a dark power, one that condemned the spirits to oblivion, possibly to a painful wandering on some other, unknown shores. It mattered little to me. I had not asked for this power. What is life for one who has been born an incarnation of Death?’

Hux felt Ren move, as if he were trying to get a good look at him. ‘Don’t laugh’, Ren warned.

‘I’m not laughing’, Hux promised, a drowsy whisper against Ren’s neck.

‘I can feel your smile’, Ren scowled.

‘So grandiloquent’, Hux mumbled. ‘The incarnation of Death, hah!’

Feeling Ren draw away, his expressive mouth twisting into a childish pout, Hux muttered an inane apology. He grabbed Ren’s collar and dealt him a mean-spirited kiss, too short to truly appease either of them, but feverish enough that Ren forgot to glower and kept chasing his lips a fraction of a second after he had withdrawn.

‘What is Snoke hoping to achieve?’, Hux asked. That brief interlude had shaken him out of his stupor. He crossed his legs and corrected his posture.

‘He is old’, Ren said. ‘He refuses to disappear from this world. He needs my help.’

‘Nonsense!’, Hux exclaimed. ‘And what does he intend to do? Become a ghost himself?’

‘When he arrived, he was interested in my grandfather’s research. As I tried to tell you, though you said I was _straying_ , my grandfather was hired by an emperor, to provide him with an army of ghosts. He was not supposed to turn them into human beings again, but to give them enough of a... corporeal presence, that they would be able to attack their opponents. When Snoke first came to Skywalk, he had enough knowledge of spirits to convince my uncle that he would be a suitable teacher for us children. But he wanted to obtain my grandfather’s journals. Not to create an army, but to ensure that if he came to die, he might be revived.’

‘Why would you help him?’, Hux frowned. ‘What could he possibly have promised you? Eternal life?’

‘Peace of mind’, Ren admitted. ‘And he did not only teach me how to get rid of the ghosts. He also showed me how I could appropriate their energy. It is another of the reasons why he asked me to cause the shipwreck... A great number of tragic deaths, so close to Skywalk... The release of energy was phenomenal. Exhilarating.’ Ren’s voice trembled with supressed excitement.

‘Well, is he immortal yet?’

‘No’, Ren answered glumly. ‘We have spent nearly two years trying to...’ He looked at Hux hesitantly before he spoke. ‘Trying to appropriate a body. Master Snoke believed that a transfer of consciousness was possible, and if so, with a malleable vessel, he could abandon his own declining body.’

‘An innocent soul’, Hux murmured.

‘I told him from the start that I believed this was a mistake’, Ren protested. ‘A spirit cannot be sewn onto a body that isn’t its own. It would be against nature.’

Hux refrained from pointing out that a great many things that Ren had mentioned could reasonably be considered as being ‘against nature’.

‘Will you let Snoke attempt to sew his spirit onto my body, then?’, Hux asked, trying to make it sound like a joke, although he waited for Ren’s answer with a fast-beating heart.

‘Of course not’, Ren said. ‘Your spirit belongs to me.’ Before Hux had time to fully take in that statement, he added, ‘In any case, Snoke has abandoned that course of enquiry. It did not yield satisfying results.’

Silence fell between them, though the boat continued its concert of groaning wood and lapping waves. The ground kept tilting ever so slightly beneath them, a compass rolling from one side to the other as it followed the slope.

‘I have frightened you’, Ren said, miserably.

‘Fear is a weapon’, Hux answered. ‘Volatile, maybe, but far more dangerous to a foe than the audacity of the fearless.’

‘Are these your father’s words?’, Ren asked.

After all that Ren had shared with him, Hux considered taking this opportunity to divulge his past. But the hour was late, and they had more pressing matters at hand. The tale of his father could wait.

‘They are nobody’s words but mine’, he answered. ‘Fear was a weakness in my father’s eyes.’ He shook himself. ‘We have already lingered here too long. If I survive the cliff once more, I would enjoy a warm bath.’

'Let us go back, then', Ren said.

He stood up, but did not immediately move, held in place by a question he seemed reluctant to ask.

'Well, what is it?', Hux asked, annoyed, as he waited for Ren to help him through the horizontal door. He could reach it, but hoisting himself over the frame was another matter. He did not like to think about the toll the climb would take on him.

'What will we do? About Master Snoke.'

At this, Hux turned back, unable to hide his surprise. To be certain of Ren's affection was one thing. To have the man at his mercy, ready to follow his lead, was another.

'There is no need to alienate him just yet', he ventured.

He was still unsure how deep Ren's loyalty to Snoke ran, but he knew certain questions were better left unasked. And he needed to know whether Snoke's dream of immortality was within the realm of plausibility. Hux could devise a plan that would take care of Snoke the old Count. An immortal Snoke was another matter.

The fact that he did not immediately dismiss the idea as downright foolish scared him more than he would admit.

'Would you inherit from Snoke?', Hux asked, aiming for an offhanded tone.

Ren rose his eyebrows, but did not give any other indication that the underlying meaning of the question had upset him.

'I cannot be sure', he said. 'I am his ward. He has control over my possessions, but I doubt the reverse would be true, even if he came to die.'

'How can you still be his ward? You have to be at least twenty-five', Hux said blithely.

Ren finally walked over to him, and offered him a leg up. Hux carefully pulled himself over the doorframe.

'I signed certain papers', Ren said. He hefted himself onto the frame with little to no effort, and swung one long leg and then the other into the cabin where Hux awaited. 'I own the house and estate in name only. Snoke has the deeds on every property my family ever owned, apart from a few lands that belong to my mother.'

'Alright', Hux muttered, thoughtful. 'This needs not deter us. If I have to relinquish Snoke's support, I can still rely on Mitaka to see my project through...'

‘Your Lieutenant’, Ren said. ‘The bastard. You would whore yourself to him.’

‘For Heaven’s sake’, Hux seethed. ‘We have had this conversation already. You are the only person I am fucking at present, and seeing how much of an ordeal it is, I am not about to throw myself at Mitaka and further muddle our...’ He steered clear from saying ‘relationship’, and concluded, slightly red in the face, ‘Mitaka can be manipulated into helping us without me falling in bed with him. Now. Shall we?’

Ren stepped forward, hands linked to support Hux’s booted foot as he climbed towards the opening. Hux was about to seize the rope and slide down the face of the deck, when something slapped against his leg. He looked down and recognized Ren’s gloves, which Ren was holding up in silent offering. Hux’s throat clenched as he reached for the gloves, and he put them on quickly, his movements erratic, the weight of all that had been said in the wreck suddenly crashing upon him. As he clutched the rope and began to descend towards the beach, he was grateful for the rain and the deafening thunder. It made it easier to avoid Ren’s eyes, and his own thoughts.

 

 

 

 

When they reached the bottom of the cliff, Ren went straight to a cluster of rocks, and pulled out a series of ropes of varying sizes. Returning to Hux, he proceeded to tie a rope around his waist in a complicated knot.

‘What are you doing?’

Hux had to shout to be heard – the rain seemed to have redoubled while they were in the wreck.

Ren looked up from his task. He wore a cape, the hood concealing his dark hair, but it did little to protect him from the wind. Every passing gust swept sheets of rain across his face.

‘How did you come down?’, Ren shouted in turn. ‘If you weren’t tied to the rope?’

Hux saw then that Ren had attached the cord around his waist to the main rope. The knot was quite loose but Hux had no doubt that it would tighten immediately should he slip on one of the irregular steps, thus halting his fall.

‘You weren’t tied to the rope?’, Ren shouted again. Despite an undercurrent of panic, Hux could tell that Ren was not convinced yet. The idea was so absurd that it refused to take root.

‘Of course I was’, Hux lied. ‘Which is why I could have tied my own damn knot!’

After that, there was little to be done but to seize the rope, and begin to climb. Now was not the time, Hux decided, to tell Ren about the disfigured ghost.

‘Are you alright?’, Ren asked, as Hux tried to recover from another whirlwind of pelting rain, blinding lightning and near-fatal falls. Twice he had felt the ground give way beneath his feet, and he had only avoided a deadly plummet by a combination of Ren’s prompt response and the safeguard of the rope around his waist.

Although the ascent had proven to be marginally less perilous than the descent, Hux could not help but feel that the whole experience had taken away a few years of his life.

Unable to lie and pretend he was fine, Hux merely mumbled about the rain and took off towards the house, legs cutting through the high stalks of rain-soaked weeds.

‘Yes’, he heard Ren say. ‘It tends to stop during the night, and resume at dawn. I used to think the landscape would rebel against it, but... It adapted.’

There was something sufficiently unsettling about that statement, which led Hux to pause and wait for Ren to catch up with him.

‘Are you saying that the rain is unnatural, too?’, Hux asked, bewildered.

'Snoke’, Ren said. He bellowed an explanation, which Hux failed to hear properly. The recurrence of words such as 'lightning' and 'spirits' was enough, however, for him to grasp the essential meaning.

'I fight my wars against men, not mankind', Hux muttered, ferocious, as he resumed his murderous stride towards Skywalk. 'Only a fool would threaten nature itself.'

 

 

 

 

It was only when Hux stepped inside the dry parlour, with its shiny pattern of tiles around the chimney and the alluring warmth of the fire, that he realized he was well and truly alive. Unspeakably giddy for no other reason than that there was air in his lungs and that he was once more safe from the rain, Hux fell upon Ren, seeking his mouth with voracious intent. Ren responded in kind, every one of his open-mouthed kisses tasting like rain and like the salty air of the windswept stairway.

Hux had stumbled into the parlour in his borrowed clothes, rust-coloured hair sticking to his forehead and ears, but he quickly decided that it did not matter, nor did it matter if he still wore Ren's gloves and if his boots had left a trail of algae and weeds all the way to the hearth.

He pushed Ren down into one of the armchairs and straddled him, gloved fingers working at the damp silk of Ren's cravat as he grinded down upon his lap, heedless of the rustle and drag of their wet clothes, or of the sheer impropriety of his behaviour. Ren did not seem to mind in the least. One of his hands found its way underneath Hux's shirt, and though Hux initially shied away from the cold touch, soon he was arching his back, leaning into Ren's large palm. It was all too easy to dismiss the bulk of Ren's body when it was concealed beneath several layers of dark fabrics. Hux could believe then that Ren's strength was fashioned from the architecture of his clothes. Faced with the reality of Ren's body, his legs straining to support him as he straddled Ren's muscled thighs, Hux was suddenly grateful for his slender frame, for the apparent frailty of his bone structure and the pliable nature of his willowy limbs. His body complemented the one before him, rather than to exemplify a lack, or a weakness.

‘Hux’, Ren muttered, though when Hux looked up into Ren’s eyes – burnished gold, clearer now than he had ever seen them – he could see that Ren had not meant to speak at all, the word torn from his lips by Hux’s mouth on his neck and Hux’s hand in his hair. Nothing was more pressing then than to wrench another moan from these reddened lips, and Hux abandoned Ren’s neck, shifting his weight and ignoring the way Ren’s hips bucked against him as he closed his teeth around Ren’s earlobe.

‘I wager I could make you come from this alone’, Hux whispered.

Ren jerked against him, fingers digging convulsively into Hux’s back. Hux thought he heard him say ‘More’, though it might have been a wordless groan.

Behind Hux, a throat was cleared, the sound so loud as to be unavoidable. Never before had Hux recoiled so abruptly, not even in the midst of cannon fire. It took all of Ren’s considerable strength to prevent him from throwing himself to the ground.

‘What is it?’, Ren asked, his voice channelling the bitter cold of the rainstorm outside.

‘I apologize, Sir’, came John’s voice from what must have been the door to the kitchen. ‘The Count said I should find you the moment you came in, Sir.’

Ren’s arm acted like a vice, and Hux ceased his attempts at twisting within his grip. In any case, he wasn’t sure if facing John would have been the best thing to do. His face would have rivalled a beetroot in colour. He couldn’t decide what was worse – his burning cheeks, or the vision he currently offered, sitting astride Ren’s lap with his legs spread wide, and Ren’s arm up his shirt.

‘What does he want?’, Ren asked.

His tone served as a partial answer to Hux’s worries regarding Ren’s loyalty. There was little deference to Snoke in Ren’s question, and absolutely none in his chilling tone.

‘He said you should meet him in the blue sitting room, along with your guest, Sir. I believe he said you should come straightaway.’

Ren tensed visibly, and Hux expected him to refuse. However, in the time it took for him to decide that he would be pleased by such a refusal, Ren had consented with a stiff nod. Hux heard John retreat towards the kitchen. The door closed behind him.

‘We should go’, Hux said. When Ren did not seem to hear, he chucked him under the chin, as light-hearted a gesture as he could muster. ‘You need to let me up’, he said.

Ren blinked, his eyes still fixated on a point above Hux’s shoulder. But he seemed to shake himself, and he loosened his hold, allowing Hux to clamber precipitously off his knees.

‘I will get changed’, Hux said, trying and failing not to sound as jittery as he felt. As if a hundred spiders had suddenly decided to colonize his skin, replacing the pleasant warmth of the fire and Ren’s roaming hands. ‘Come and collect me in a moment, I have no idea where this sitting room is located. And see if they can prepare me a bath, should this meeting be brief.’

He knew he should have said something else – to ensure that Ren was on his side, to define their plan in regard to Snoke. But nothing could have kept him from running away from his shame in that moment, not even the incoming dread of having to cross the kitchen, exposed to the stares and gossip of the servants.

 

 

 

 

'He has a visitor', Ren said.

Predictably, he had waltzed into Hux's room without knocking. As Hux was ready by then, having just finished brushing off speckles of mud from his boots, he had the dubious comfort of walking straight past Ren and leading the way towards the stairs.

'Any idea who it is?', Hux asked, marvelling at the elegant sweep of Ren's hair, which looked quite dry and impressively clean, given that he had recently spent an hour in the rain. Hux's hair was not so disciplined. It kept curling over his forehead and above his ears, no matter how often he tried to slick it back.

'No', Ren said. 'I suppose we will find out.'

'About... John', Hux ventured, spitting out the name like he would a bite of stale food. 'Should we...'

'You don't have to fear John', Ren said, fingers brushing Hux's shoulder.

Hux shook him off with a grimace.

'I don't fear John! Not personally. However...'

'I will take care of John', Ren declared. 'Forget it ever happened.'

Hux snorted. 'Like hell I will', he muttered, but by then Ren had stopped in front of a closed door, and he temporarily set this concern aside.

'Come in', Snoke called out as soon as Ren's knuckles rapped against the door.

Hux made to walk into the room, but Ren came to an abrupt halt and Hux barely refrained from slamming into his back.

He peered around Ren's side, properly curious now, and froze in turn at the unexpected sight of Mitaka, who stood beside Snoke with his hat in hand, still wearing his travelling cloak.

'Armitage, what a pleasure to have you back among us', Snoke said, his smile close-lipped, soft and secretive.

'Hux', Mitaka nodded. 'Sir Kylo. Charmed.'

In Hux's opinion Mitaka did not looked charmed at all. Petrified, maybe. It might have had to do with Ren's rather impressive glower, dark brows low over a malevolent glare. Hux did not miss Ren's infinitesimal gesture of ownership, one hand hovering close to his hip as if he thought he could just push Hux back behind him, and hide him from view.

'Though young Dopheld's arrival was unexpected, he brings agreeable news', Snoke said. 'Should we intervene at the next parliamentary session, I have no doubt that we could pass the necessary bill, and have the destruction of the square underway by sundown. I will immediately write to my barrister in town, and have him hire the necessary workforce.' He turned Hux, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'Unless... You have changed your mind, Armitage. Perhaps there are more... _pressing_ matters that you wish to attend to. Matters of the heart, maybe?'

Ren was so tense at Hux's side that his anger seemed to bleed into the air, like the hair-raising atmosphere that precedes a storm. Hux held Snoke's stare, his face livid but utterly blank. He succeeded, somehow, in mustering a tired smile.

'Great news, indeed', he said, in a voice that did not let on how vanquished he felt. Snoke had pulled the rug from right under his feet, using Mitaka's lovelorn enthusiasm to trap Hux with an unsolvable debt.

'Master', Ren began, but Hux stopped him short with a slight touch of his fingers at the small of his back.

'I am immensely grateful', Hux said.

'Perfect.'

Snoke's gaze lost its unsettling focus, and he returned his attention to the mismatched group that they formed - Mitaka clutching his hat, his shoulders dotted with rain, Hux feigning enthusiasm though he had yet to discover the feeling, and Ren, who glared at Snoke's chest as if he could stop his heart by sheer power of will.

'I have a suggestion to make', Snoke resumed. 'I suppose you will not want the Resistance to circumvent our plans.'

'Of course', Hux replied, carefully.

'May I suggest we lure the Resistance here? A few days of merriment, hunting parties, music and dancing. We would simply need to air the ballroom...'

Hux did not miss Mitaka's quick glance towards the unattractive landscape of a heavy sky and torrential rains, but surprisingly, it was Ren who voiced the immediate concern.

'Why would they accept?', he asked.

'Why wouldn't they’, Snoke smirked, ‘if this invitation comes with a promise of reconciliation, from a repentant son to his beloved mother?'

Ren took an instinctive step back, as if he could see the shadow of his mother looming behind Snoke. Unless it was another shadow – there were, after all, many things that Ren alone in this room could see.

‘Well, Kylo’, Snoke said, voice mellifluous, ‘will you trick your mother to help our dear engineer?

‘Yes’, Ren said, and Hux felt a surge of fondness, mixed with exasperation. Ren had answered immediately, without a second thought, as if he would do anything for Hux. Or for Snoke. Maybe Ren had been relieved that he did not have to choose between the one and the other.

‘If this is all agreed’, Snoke smiled. ‘Dopheld, Mary has prepared for you the room adjoining Armitage’s. We will reconvene tomorrow morning. Kylo... I expect you to join me at the usual time for our... nightly discussion.’

With a withering glare in Mitaka’s direction, Ren stomped towards the door and left.

After a terse goodnight, Hux made to follow Ren, but Mitaka caught up with him in the corridor outside the room.

‘Hux, wait. Are you alright?’

Hux allowed himself a frustrated sigh. ‘Why did you come, Mitaka?’

‘I received your message’, Mitaka said, frowning. He reached for Hux, bony fingers wrapping around his forearm. ‘It seemed clear to me that you needed help, so I...’

‘What could possibly have made you think that I needed help?’, Hux exclaimed, though his voice dropped abruptly in the middle of the question, as he remembered that Snoke was still in the sitting room, and thus liable to hear them.

‘You are not yourself’, Mitaka whispered urgently. ‘What hold has he on you?’

‘He did not have any hold on me, until you barged in’, Hux whispered back, dragging Mitaka away from the sitting room.

He tried a door on the other side of the corridor, and finding it open, he pushed Mitaka inside. The room was dark, the windows opaque with rain. Hux thought he saw the outline of a harp in a corner.

‘I intended to manipulate him’, he said, keeping close to Mitaka, worried that his words would travel farther than he wanted them to. The sentient wallpaper and hidden corridors seemed to indicate that Skywalk had as many ears as it had eyes. ‘How can I do that, now that you have barged in and given him something to control me with?’

Mitaka shook his head. He looked infinitely sad. Predictably, this did not elicit any feelings in Hux beyond a pressing desire to punch him in the face.

‘I wasn’t talking about the Count’, Mitaka said. ‘What hold has Sir Kylo on you, that you would willingly spend time in his company, and in this place?’

Mitaka looked around him, and gave a mighty shrug, as if his surroundings had robbed him of words.

A cold little draft passed between them, causing Hux to sneeze and Mitaka to scratch absently at his exposed neck. Hux nodded at the air without quite realizing that he was doing it. This thoughtless greeting was far more deferential than his goodnight to Snoke had been.

‘Let me help you’, Mitaka insisted.

‘You could have spared yourself a troublesome journey’, Hux said. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me. I suppose I’ll see you in the morning.’

Mitaka’s voice caused him to pause as he was about to open the door.

‘Why him?’

Mitaka probably deserved an answer. Hux realized he didn’t have one.

‘Goodnight, Dopheld’, he said, fully aware of how pitiful a concession that was.

 

 

 

 

‘Well, do come in’, Hux drawled, as Ren strode into the bathroom uninvited.

Though Hux had taken many baths in his life, most of them had taken place in old tubs set up in the corner of kitchens, or in the company of other soldiers, in basins that were barely better than troughs. He had meant to end this eventful day completely immersed in warm water, enjoying the odd presence of an elaborate bathroom in an ancient house. The claw-footed bathtub and the green and yellow tiles had even managed to briefly distract him from the steaming water.

And now Ren had barged in, another distraction.

‘I need you to know my only intent is to help you’, Ren declared solemnly. He closed the door and lounged against the wall of coloured tiles.

‘What am I to do with this onslaught of helpers’, Hux mused. ‘You, Mitaka, Snoke. The ghosts. At least, make yourself useful?’ With a thoughtful sigh, he rested his head against the edge of the tub. ‘Wash the sand from my hair, will you?’

He nearly smiled at Ren’s expression. Surprise, and naked want. His eyes never leaving Hux, Ren rolled his sleeves to the elbows and stepped towards the bathtub. He went down on both knees, dipped his fingers in the water, and then both his hands were in Hux’s hair, combing back the short red strands, massaging his scalp.

‘Do you miss the war?’, Ren asked, which was, Hux figured, a very Ren-like question to ask, absolutely unrelated to anything that they should have discussed.

He pondered his answer, head rolling back on the edge of the bathtub as Ren’s thumbs rubbed the back of his neck.

‘Not anymore’, he said, and realized he meant it. ‘We have found ourselves another war, or several, haven’t we?’

Ren hummed in answer.

‘If all this comes to pass, if the square is destroyed, we will be widely hated’, Hux said. ‘Not only by the Resistance. It might take the country a decade or more to realize that my design is a vast improvement on the old square.’

‘We are already widely hated’, Ren noted, which wasn’t much of an argument in Hux’s opinion. He was willing to let is slide, however, especially since Ren had let go of his hair in favour of plunging a hand into the scalding water, fingers snaking along Hux’s ribs and then over the concave expanse of his stomach. The ghostlike touch turned into something else entirely when Ren’s hand closed around his slowly stirring cock. Hux arched his back, a languid moan spilling from his lips as he held fast onto the edges of the tub.

‘I wager I could make you come from this alone’, Ren said, slightly mocking. Hux wasn’t sure what he was referring to – it could have been the combination of brisk, wrist-led thrusts and leisurely, nerve-raking strokes, or Ren’s voice, with its aristocratic drawl. Whatever it was, it did the trick, and Hux came with a great shudder, spilling inside Ren’s hand and irrevocably ruining his bath.

‘I should return to Snoke’, Ren said, wiping his hand on a dark pile of cloth that Hux highly suspected was his dressing gown.

‘Of course’, he muttered.

‘I will come to you if he releases me before dawn’, Ren said, leaning forward to kiss him.

Hux interpreted that kiss, damp from the steam still rising from the tub, as a silent demand. Ren did not want him to steal into Mitaka’s room under cover of night.

Once Ren had left, Hux’s eye was caught by a flash of silver among the folds of the dressing robe. The key to the attic, he realized. Ren had made sure to leave it in evidence. A heavy-handed gesture, to be sure, but Hux had come to expect them by now.

And since no one was spying on him, neither man nor wallpaper nor draft, he allowed himself a smile, the cautious twist of tightly-pressed lips slowly blossoming into a full-fledged grin.


	8. Where there is talk of the Devil

‘I cannot claim to have a thorough knowledge of architecture’, Ren confessed, as if that was something to be ashamed of. ‘But I thought you might find these interesting, and perhaps, once you are done excavating and draining and whatever else it is that you need to do... You could use them. Hux? Are you listening to me?’

‘Hm?’

Hux raised his head from the old clock that he had been examining. Ren was standing in front of a desk, partly hidden from view by a dusty curtain. Hux set the clock down carefully atop a table with ivory inlays. 

‘I don’t know what happened to this clock’, Hux said, leaning forward to peer at the glazed face. It must have suffered a rather violent blow for it curved inwards, with a quivering crack running down the middle from the twelfth hour to the sixth. ‘But the mechanism is intact, somehow. You would only need to replace the dial....’

‘Me’, Ren said, emerging from around the curtain. When Hux only stared at him, he deigned to explain, ‘I struck it. A while ago. I was angry.’

Hux turned back to the clock. ‘You must have been pretty damn angry’, he remarked drily.

Pushing aside the heavy folds of the curtain, he took a look at what Ren had brought out for him. He discovered a great many maps, some yellowed with age, others still crisp and shiny, as if the ink remained fresh. There were elevations, plans, cross-sections, and above these Ren had laid out several notebooks that seemed to be filled to the brim with sketches. Some had been drawn to solve a problem, fragments of a building drawn by a hasty hand in order to study which pillar would better bear the weight of a roof, or how to direct a gutter positioned above an uneven cornice. Other drawings were architectural follies, turreted and ethereal, with so many windows the walls seemed to have dissolved.

‘Is this your grandfather’s work?’  
  
'Yes', Ren said. He seemed apprehensive. Enthusiastic, but cautious. 'What do you think of them?'

Hux's gaze returned to the plans. They were less daring than the sketches, or, at least, they were not daring in the same way. The sketches did not always obey the rules of logic, but the plans were invariably rational, displaying clean lines and a good sense of proportion. They were daring in their absolutes, in the architect's willingness to submit every room, every facade, every doorframe and mantelpiece to sound principles of symmetry and harmony.

Hux ran his fingers reverently along the lines of a pediment, his index finger following the delicate volute of a capital.

'Perfection', he murmured, mesmerized.  
  
'You are sincere', Ren said, in a voice of soft wonder.

Hux tried to put into words his state of rapture. The plans before his eyes corroborated and even transcended his vision for an improved order of architecture. He wanted to see them translated into stone. He wanted to see such constructions withstand the test of time, as they became a symbol of the country they belonged to. The geometrical shapes upon which this architecture had been prevaricated would come to embody the morals of the people, and the stability of their government.

'Perfection', he repeated, because he doubted that Ren would be sensitive to this ideological ramble.

And indeed, Ren declared, 'It was a hobby for him. He travelled in his youth with several noblemen who claimed they would become the 'architects of the universe'. It was during one of these journeys that he met Emperor Palpatine. The knowledge of spirits was always first and foremost in his mind, but he did dabble in architecture, whenever he could spare the time...'

'Dabble', Hux repeated, incredulous, as he lifted the first layer of plans to reveal another, equally as interesting as the first. 'Ren, your grandfather was a visionary.'

Ren went slightly red in the face, and his gaze warmed considerably as it descended towards Hux's lips. Hux had no doubt that Ren would have ravished his words if it had been within his power. Since it was not, he settled for kissing Hux, pushing him back against the table, his hands easily parting Hux's legs so he could settle between them and get better access to Hux's lips, his throat, that sensitive area below his ear that caused his whole body to seize each time Ren's mouth so much as grazed his skin.

In Hux's opinion, Snoke had made a mistake in failing to exploit Ren's admiration for his grandfather. As Ren began to unfasten his trousers, apparently unconcerned that Hux was lying atop his precious maps - unless it excited him, which was rather likely - Hux tried to think of a way to use Ren's family troubles against Snoke.

The plans would be essential, of course. Though he was willing to exploit Ren’s other inheritance, these spiritual powers that he still failed to fully understand, he knew that he couldn’t hope to equal Snoke’s knowledge on the subject, nor could he expect to help Ren master his powers as Snoke had done. All he had, he concluded somewhat desultorily, teeth catching on Ren’s bottom lip, was a vague knowledge of architecture, and an ability to drive Ren wild without really trying.

He wound an arm around Ren’s neck and drew him closer, left himself be pushed back on the table although he knew that the plans were getting rumpled in the process. Ren thrust a hand down the back of his pants and Hux’s fingers closed reflexively around the corner of the closest cross-section, thumbnail tearing a hole in the thick creamy paper. He lifted his hips obligingly, allowing Ren’s blunt fingers to probe the cleft of his ass, and then sank back down against the table and Ren’s wandering hand, enjoying the way Ren immediately went after him, his upper-body subsiding against Hux’s chest like a felled tree, the weight of it close to being suffocating.

For a second, they remained as they were, Ren’s face buried in the hollow of Hux’s neck. All but immobilized, Hux released his fistful of crinkled papers and tried to slip his fingers between their bodies, only to have his hand knocked back against the table. Ren lifted his head from Hux’s neck, dark-eyed and pleasantly flushed.

‘I will not rush this’, he said hoarsely.

‘Fantasy of yours?’, Hux said, with a wicked smile. ‘Fucking on top of your grandfather’s lifework?’

He meant it to be teasing. He certainly did not expect Ren’s flush to extend from his cheeks to the tip of his ears, as his breathing grew increasingly laboured.

‘This excites you, then’, Hux murmured, his amusement gone. His hand twitched weakly in Ren’s grasp. He couldn’t have said why the idea of Ren taking him over a pile of blueprints was suddenly incredibly arousing. It represented something, that much he knew – but whether it was a vow or an omen or simply a sign of shared perversions, he wasn’t sure.

Ren leaned forward, kissing his much-abused lips before he whispered, ‘I would mark you – would you stay still if I touched myself in front of you? I want to see you as I...’

‘Yes, yes’, Hux said, too hurried perhaps, too eager, but the vision had taken root inside his head and would not be dislodged – Ren stroking himself, pupils blown as he bit down on his fat bottom lip, hand quickening until he came onto Hux’s chest, perhaps as far up as his open mouth. Hux licked his lips, watched as Ren took a step back, trying to find his balance on unsteady legs.

And then, just as Hux had found a suitable vantage point, propped up on his elbows with his legs dangling from the table, Ren froze. Hux saw the precise moment his countenance changed, feverish want turning into disbelief and then anger.

‘Leave me be!’, he shouted, turning around so fast the back of his legs hit the table.

‘What is it?’, Hux asked, hastening to fasten his trousers and rearrange his shirt. He was still painfully hard, and more than a little annoyed. As far as he could see, the attic was as empty as it had been mere seconds ago.

‘Now is not the time!’ Ren roared, still addressing the empty air.

Hux edged forward cautiously, pushing back Ren's restraining arm. He tried to follow the direction of Ren’s glare.

'Do you think your opinion means anything to me?', Ren snarled, answering an inaudible comment.

Hux sidled closer, eyes still focused intently on a few square feet of space framed by a large leather trunk, an old vanity with a broken mirror, and another hanging drapery, this one of dusty green and gold brocade. As he was about to try and get a better look at the gritty surface of the mirror, a movement on his left caused him to pause. The curtain had been jostled, as if by an angry hand. Hux's heart thumped so hard against his ribs he was certain the whole room must have heard it, including the ghost.

'If he is so dear to you, should you not be with him?’, Ren spat. ‘No, I suppose an ugly old monastery would not tempt such an adventurous soul. You prefer to wander this godforsaken coast. You prefer to plague _me_.'

The curtain was once again shaken by an invisible hand, so hard this time that it came down in a tangle of ripped fabric. A cold gust of air swept past Hux, at such speed that it felt as if he had been slapped. He tottered and reached for the nearby desk, trying to right himself. Somewhere behind him, the door to the attic slammed shut.

'What... was this about?', Hux asked. Thinking Ren might be more willing to speak if he shared something of value first, he added, 'I know this ghost.'

Ren's head whipped towards him, eyes thunderous beneath lowered brows. 'What did you say?'

'I know this ghost', Hux repeated. Admittedly the draft had been colder than it usually was - the mirror was still white with it, creeping fingers of frost following the cracks in the glass. But there was no mistaking this short-tempered whiplash of air.

'How?', Ren asked, his voice hollowed-out, as if the ghost had taken something from him as it left the room.

'It led me to you’, Hux said. ‘It showed me the hidden corridor to your room.' He left aside the other time the draft had come to his aid, guiding him to the locked cellar where Snoke and Ren were carrying out their experiments.

'Well, he thinks you are wound up so tight you will soon snap a spring', Ren said. 'His words, not mine. That was my father's ghost.'

'Oh', Hux said, a little stupidly, turning to look at the closed door. He was abruptly reminded of the circumstances of the ghost's arrival. Feeling his cheeks heating up, he hastened to change the subject. 'What were you arguing about?'

Ren hesitated. Hux scowled at him, and though he doubted he looked halfway as menacing as he intended, Ren was cowed into speaking.

'Master Snoke insisted that I invite my uncle along with the Resistance.'

'Your uncle', Hux repeated, trying to recall what he knew of the man. 'The uncle who taught you how to converse with spirits?'

'Yes. He left Skywalk fifteen years ago. I believe he was motivated by guilt and regret. And he was afraid.’

‘Of Snoke?’  
  
‘Of me’, Ren said, still in that strangely vacant voice. ‘Of what I had become.’

Hux nearly scoffed at the preposterous idea that someone could be afraid of Ren, but something in Ren’s expression kept him in check.

‘Your father... Or at least, your father’s ghost. Is there even a difference between the two, aside from the lack of a physical form? How conscious... How _alive_ are these spirits?’

‘Well, he is alive enough to be a bloody nuisance’, Ren muttered. ‘And as always, he ruined _everything_.’ He picked up his coat and shrugged it on. ‘I’m going for a ride. Do not wait up for me.’

‘Do you always have to be so insufferably cryptic?’, Hux frowned. ‘You did not tell me why your father was angry.’

‘I have no bloody idea!’, Ren exclaimed. ‘Maybe he thinks Luke will finally come back. If he does, I will have to follow my master’s orders. Snoke wants me to kill him. And what does it matter? Am I not a parricide already? Am I not a _monster_?’

He punctuated this dramatic tirade with a grand sweep of his arm, knocking over the contents of a nearby shelf. Books and porcelain figures toppled to the ground. A porcelain dog bounced off the rug and shattered at Hux’s feet.

‘I once duelled a man’, Hux said, looking at the broken pieces, ‘because he had made fun of my hair.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’, Ren asked, so taken aback he momentarily forgot about his anger.

‘I’m not sure’, Hux shrugged. ‘I realise I have failed to share much of my past with you, and if you truly believe you are a monster... Well, the least I can do is admit that I have done terrible things as well. In the name of family honour, and of an idiotic desire to please...’

‘Duels are a common occurrence’, Ren said, forgetting perhaps that he was the only aristocrat in the room. ‘There is no need to feel guilty, no matter how whimsical the insult...’

‘I killed him’, Hux said.

The worst thing was, he hadn’t meant to. He had come to the field still hoping for a reconciliation, or at least, for an apology. It seemed if he closed his eyes that he could still recall the taste of the young artificer’s mouth, bitter and sharp like the ale they had drunk. And then his father had fallen, and Hux had become the scapegoat of the restless garrison of the fort. A duel would put an end to his troubles, he thought. But the artificer had died, and then there had been another duel, and another.

‘I think’, Hux said, ‘that you treat death too lightly. Perhaps when you come to understand this... You will learn how to deal with Snoke, and with your ghosts.’

‘With all due respect’, Ren replied snidely, ‘I am quite sure I know more about death than you do.’

With a disdainful huff, he stomped out of the attic.

 

 

 

 

The house was in a flurry of preparations when Hux came down to bid Mitaka farewell. Ren had sent for additional servants the moment his mother’s letter had arrived. The Resistance was coming to Skywalk, and Ren would make sure that Skywalk was ready to receive it.

Every door that Hux passed on his way down was thrown open, and there seemed to be servants in every room, lighting fires and unfolding yard upon yard of blindingly white sheets. Hux recognized the stable boy who had driven him to the house, now busy waxing the banister of a wooden staircase. In the main hall, three young men were perched upon ladders, cleaning the tall windows one narrow pane at a time. Hux vaguely wondered how much Ren had had to pay to hire these young farmers. Surely, they wouldn’t have abandoned their livelihood in order to help their absentee landlord. And it wasn’t just them – Ren seemed to have recruited the entire village of Jakku, for a wide range of tasks that went from curtain-cleaning to taking care of the plants. On the main staircase, Hux saw an old woman whose sole purpose was to wipe the dust from the leaves.

In the kitchen, the elder Mary was flanked by a loud group of girls, and the lot of them dealt with the sudden influx of food, trying to dispose of several cartloads of hams and apples and large round cheeses and enormous sacks of flour. There would be more to come in the afternoon, right before the guests were due to arrive. Fish, poultry and fresh butter and cheese from the village, as well as venison from the grounds of Skywalk. The nearest neighbour, who lived some thirty miles away, was apparently indebted to Ren – Hux suspected another ghostly tale, but had not pressed for details – and he opened wide the doors to his hothouse. As Hux forced his way through the kitchen, he sidestepped not only the many villagers-turned-servants but also baskets of strange colourful fruits, some of which he had never seen before.

Mitaka was standing in the courtyard in front of the house, nervously twisting the brim of his hat. His trunk had already been loaded at the back of Snoke’s private carriage.

‘Hux’, Mitaka said, eyes darting behind Hux to see if Ren was nearby. Over the past few days, Ren had taken to following Hux everywhere, so that whenever Mitaka wanted to talk to him, he had to do it with Ren listening to his every word. The only moment Ren retreated was when Hux was reviewing his maps, but then he was replaced by Snoke. In such cases, Snoke did most of the talking, for Mitaka was terrified of the old aristocrat.

'Thank you', Hux said, hand extended. 'I am in your debt.'

Mitaka shook his hand. Despite the rain, he seemed in no hurry to put on his hat. Hux had rarely if ever seen him look so tired, with shadows were etched deep around his brown eyes. It was easier to focus on these signs of a troubled sleep than on Mitaka's sad, dejected look.

'Not yet', Mitaka said, with a wry smile. He shook Hux's hand, the gesture formal and stilted, two gloves touching. 'We may talk about debts when the construction has begun. Give Sir Kylo my best.'

'Mitaka.' Hux hesitated, but when Mitaka made to drop his hand, he caught a hold of the other man's fingers, exerting a brief but lingering pressure, all the more telling for being rushed. 'This means more than I can say', Hux said haltingly. 'I won't forget. If ever I am in a position to...'

'I used to worry about you', Mitaka said, his mouth still twisted in that same wistful smile. 'How will Hux fare when we return from the war?'

'There is always a war', Hux said.  
  
'No, there isn't. You create your own wars, because you cannot bear the idea of peace.'

There was enough of an element of truth to these words that Hux remained silent. Mitaka sighed, touched his shoulder briefly and stepped back.

'We will see each other soon', he said.

His expression shifted imperceptibly, which Hux took as a sign that Ren was approaching. When he turned around, however, he was surprised to see not only Ren but also Snoke, who walked towards them with a shambling gait, leaning heavily onto a silver-topped cane. He was draped in the heavy fur coat that Ren had mentioned, the fur already sleek with rain. It made it look like fish scales, as if Snoke had draped a dead salmon around his shoulders.

Hux was surprised to see Snoke outside the house, though he realized immediately that he had no reason to be. Snoke was obviously able to move from his room to his office, or to the cellar. Besides, Snoke had explicitly told Ren and Hux that he would be accompanying Mitaka to the capital, as his word would carry considerable weight during the parliamentary session. Hux suspected that this decision was also motivated by an unwillingness on Snoke's part to come face to face with the Resistance.

All in all, he should not have been taken aback to see Snoke standing on his own two feet. But there was something _wrong_ about the scene, as if this upright figure did not truly belong to Snoke, or as if this vision was only a smokescreen, behind which Snoke was sitting, pushing forward a wheelchair - or crawling, his crooked hands leaving grooves in the wet soil of the yard.

'Are you feeling alright, young Armitage?', Snoke asked.

Ren stood behind Snoke, looking characteristically gloom. When he lifted his eyes from the ground, it was to glare at Mitaka. Mitaka must have found him fearsome, for he took another step back. In Hux's opinion, Ren looked like an idiot, with his dripping hair, and that sulking expression that would have been more appropriate on a five year-old.

'I am quite alright, thank you', Hux told Snoke. 'I wish you a safe journey, my Lord.'

Snoke merely smiled in answer, his head turning ever-so-slightly in Mitaka's direction. This discrete swivelling motion and the sharp-eyed glance that accompanied it reminded Hux of a snake.

'Remember what we discussed', Snoke called out, presumably to Ren. He boarded the carriage, Mitaka in tow. Catching Hux's worried glance at the exposed trunks at the back of the carriage, Mitaka waved him over.

'I had them put your maps with me', he said, and sure enough, he shared his side of the carriage with an armful of Hux's plans, safely tucked away in leather cases.

Hux felt a surge of something fond and soft that he refused to call tenderness.

'Thank you', he said, and shut the door of the carriage as the driver shook the reins. Hux stepped back and watched as the carriage made its way across the courtyard, narrowly avoiding another cart of foodstuffs as it reached the gate.

'We are alone now', Ren said.

'Indeed, we are.'

For although the courtyard was full of villagers running in and out of the house, and Hux knew the ghosts were bound to be nearby whether he could sense them or not, Snoke and Mitaka's departure did make it seem as if they had been freed, somehow.

'Come', Ren said. 'There is something I want to show you.'

 

 

 

 

Hux divested himself of his gloves, hat and coat before he followed Ren into the main hall. Going straight for a set of wide double doors, Ren threw them open with a flourish.

Hux’s first impression was of a stage, surrounded by mirrors and candelabras that contributed to create false light and an illusion of depth. The room around him composed an elaborate, gilded setting, with a fresco of the seasons riding their chariots towards a burnished sun, and putti in the spandrels. Full-length mirrors were windows were mirrors, and the parquet, recently waxed, seemed to be yet another reflexive surface, trapping the light in its gleaming boards.

'The musicians will be in the corner here', Ren said. 'There is a screen built into the wall on that side, should the host wish to hide them from the assembly...'

His voice echoed loudly in the empty ballroom. Hux turned towards him, but his eyes soon drifted back towards the golden leaves curling around the chandeliers, and then further up to take in the fresco. Halfway up the wall, he caught sight of what seemed to be narrow balconies, framed with crimson curtains. These openings suggested a gallery, though they were not high enough to be on the first floor of the house.

'These are not in use', Ren said, following his gaze. 'The gallery collapsed before I was born. My grandfather had conceived it like the wings of a theatre. Wooden walkways and wooden stairs... They burned down during the fire. Have no fear. There is no one up there, hiding in the shadows and watching you.'

'I know that', Hux said. Something in Ren's words had caught his attention, and he had meant to ask a question, but he forgot what it was in his urge to counter Ren's assumptions. 'It is a rather elegant ballroom’, he said. ‘I suppose these poor villagers of yours have stayed up the night to try and make it presentable.'

'I thought you might want to dance.'

Hux stared at Ren, appalled. Ren must have expected an answer to this thinly veiled question, but when Hux merely went on gaping, he seemed to decide he should justify himself.

'I meant to ask you for a dance during the Resistance ball', he said. 'In fact, I would have on the first night if our conversation had not taken a... different turn.'

Hux realized his mouth was open. He closed it, and tried to tell himself that Ren's idea was not so strange. After all, it was a common occurrence for partners of the same sex to dance together during balls - Phasma herself had a habit of gaining the favours of the prettiest girl at every gathering she went to. If Hux was not used to it, it was merely because of his stern military background, and because, well, he didn't dance.

He told Ren as much.

‘I can teach you’, Ren offered.

‘I didn’t say I _couldn’t_ dance’, Hux snapped. ‘I just choose not to.’

‘You would have accepted if the Lieutenant had been asking, instead of me’, Ren said, his dark glare a diminished echo of the murderous look he reserved for Mitaka.

Hux would have answered that Mitaka knew better than to make such a request, but something held him back. Maybe it was the way that Ren’s anger had almost instantly dissolved into blatant distress.

‘I would have refused for the exact same reason’, he said instead. ‘Now. Didn’t you want to gather your improvised servants for some speech?’

‘I have time for a dance.’

‘Ren. There is no music. And do not use this as an excuse to summon musicians!’, he added precipitously.

‘We do not need music’, Ren said, stepping forward.

He seemed oddly at home in this haunted ballroom. There was an odd formality to him, in the high collar shadowing his jaw and in his posture, shoulders slightly drawn in and hands linked behind his back, which fit in with the mad dash of the seasons across the high ceiling. Hux saw many Rens in the elongated mirrors, and these tall, brooding figures contributed to give the ballroom an air of being quietly inhabited, whether by ghosts or by whispers, of maybe just by the curl of smoke above the many candles.

Hux was reflecting upon the fact that any empty ballroom would appear haunted, no matter its location or its ornamentation, when Ren spoke again.

‘Can’t you hear it?’, he asked. ‘The music played years ago by men who have long since turned to dust...’

‘Lovely’, Hux snorted. ‘Do make sure to jot it down in your journal for that future novel.’  
  
He expected a flustered retort. Instead, Ren kept advancing, until Hux could see the pattern of ferns embroidered on his cravat, and the disarming effect of the candlelight on his strange features, made for a moment more alive than anything in this house had any right to be. And then Ren began to hum.

Hux should have laughed. He very nearly did, if only out of principle. But this was still Skywalk, and a hum in these halls had far more power than it would have had in the city, or in some foreign fort. Hux turned nervously towards the musicians’ corner. It was empty, but he was sure he had heard the beginning of a melody. Several ringing notes from a piano, and the answering complaint of a violin, both sounds seeming far more distant than the corner should allow. He was so perturbed by this faraway sound that he did not react when Ren took a hold of his waist, though he did emit an undignified shriek when Ren tried to lure him into a dance step.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’, he cried, feet dragging along. The only reason he consented to move was because he knew Ren could easily carry him should he refuse.

‘I am teaching you how to dance’, Ren replied evenly, lifting Hux’s hand as he asserted his grip on his waist.

‘This isn’t _dancing_!’, Hux protested.

‘They call it a waltz’, Ren said.

‘I know what it is. It’s indecent.’

In spite of his protests, he followed Ren's movements, feet sliding along the floorboards. They seemed a strange pair in the passing mirrors, a tall dark shadow and a pale silhouette in ivory and gold, forever entwined.

The distant music was somehow louder than the shuffling of their feet across the floorboards. Hux wasn't sure he could trust his eyes anymore. His vision blurred as he swept by another mirror, and he saw not only two men but a whole crowd watching them, their faces hidden behind softly-swaying fans and glittering glasses. Though he could not hear these phantom guests he could see them speak - as their eyes remained fixed upon him, they leaned towards one another, exchanging whispers.

Hux promptly looked away, his eyes returning to Ren’s face. He was surprised to see that Ren was smiling. This unlikely sight vanished the moment Ren realized that Hux was looking at him.

'What is it?', Hux asked, not quite knowing if he was asking about the smile or its disappearance.

'Would that this were real', Ren said.

'Have we not established by now that it is? We are both alive.' Hux tightened his hold on Ren's hand, on his shoulder. 'Are any of your ghosts as real as this?'

'That's not what I meant.' Ren's steps slowed. Hux imitated him albeit a second too late; he narrowly avoided a collision.

'What did you mean, then?'

They were still very close. There was no doubt in Hux's mind that Ren was real - he found proof of it in the near-feverish gleam of Ren's eyes, in the soft sheen of sweat on his upper brow, in the subtle play of blood under skin, tinting Ren's cheeks and lips a darker red in the light of the chandeliers.

'I wish I could trust you', Ren said.  
  
'We have had this discussion as well', Hux said, puzzled. 'You know I...'

'You would betray me if it served your purpose', Ren interrupted. Somehow, he managed to make it sound condescending, as if he were enlightening Hux about his own thoughts. 'Your ambitions will always come first. And when our interests cease to align, you will abandon me.'

'This is ridiculous', Hux frowned.

'If I wished to remain in Skywalk, rather than to live in the capital... Would you choose to stay with me?'

'I could travel back and forth', Hux replied, realizing as he said it that it was impossible. He might be able to carry out his schemes, but a part of him would always worry, wondering whether the house had finally turned against Ren, whether Snoke had provoked another tempest...

'You were right', Ren declared. 'I do need to address the servants before the guests arrive.' He let go of Hux with one last, regretful look, and left the room.

Hux looked towards the mirrors. The twinkling crowd had disappeared with Ren, and he found himself staring at his own lanky frame. He looked frailer than he usually did, and far more confused than he would have liked. Schooling his features, he made ready to follow Ren, when a rush of air close to his ear alerted him to the return of a now familiar companion.

'Alright', he sighed. 'Whatever it is you wish to show me... Let us get on with it.'

 

 

 

 

The kitchen was empty, the servants having all flocked to the hall to listen to Ren as he dealt out final instructions. Hux walked past the table laden with half-cooked dishes, breathing in the smell of roasted meats and apple pie, trying to ignore the far less appetising odour of fish as he sidestepped a basket where the cooks had discarded the innards of cods and trouts.

He expected the ghost to lead him outside, but the draft - Ren's father - led him around the table instead, and towards a gigantic pot that simmered above the fire. There was a small stool next to it. Quite obviously someone had been stirring the broth until Ren had summoned the servants. The draft coursed along Hux’s forearm, down towards his fingers. The sensation was particularly disagreeable, and Hux felt the hair on his arm rise in its wake. He let himself be guided to a clay pot that someone had shoved beneath the stool, the lid held open by a wooden spoon.

He lifted the lid. The pot was filled to the brim with a thick white powder. Flour, he thought at first, though when he smeared some across his handkerchief, he noticed that the powder was finer than sugar, and denser than flour. When he lifted the handkerchief to his nose and took a whiff, he did not detect any particular smell.

'One of the servants', he muttered. 'With orders from Snoke... Or from Ren?' The draft was still there, he could sense it. A slight disturbance of the air to his right, a ladle and a spoon swaying gently below their hooks on the mantelpiece. He shook his head. 'From Snoke.'

He stepped away from the fire. The servants would return soon, and by the time they did, he needed to have devised a plan.

 

 

 

 

'Where were you?', Ren called, moving away from the shelter of the front porch.

Hux had just come out through the service entrance. He hastened to join Ren and pushed him back under the porch with both hands.

'Don't stand in the rain. I was getting dressed.'

'Did you not see that I had the front doors opened?', Ren asked, gesturing toward the bright expanse of candlelit hall behind him, an impressive vista of gleaming leaves, gleaming chandeliers and gleaming woodwork.

'I had matters to attend to in the kitchen', Hux said. 'Don't stand in the rain, let us step back inside.'

He refrained from remarking that it was useless to wait at the door for the guests to arrive, and that they might as well have retreated to one of the many sitting rooms. Ren was evidently nervous, and if the rain had a soothing effect on his frazzled nerves, Hux was willing to humour him.

They watched the landscape in silence until the first carriage appeared on the horizon. It was soon followed by many others, moving steadily towards Skywalk like a colony of ants.

'Here they come', Ren muttered.

Hux could hear the servants arranging themselves in the hall behind them. Reluctant to provide them with too overt a display, he merely touched his fingers to the back of Ren's upper arm, with just enough pressure that Ren would notice the gesture.

'Thank you', he said. 'For agreeing to this... masquerade.'

'For you', Ren replied. Hux waited, strangely expectant, but Ren did not add anything. Whether it was to avoid Hux or the bustle behind them, he stepped off into the rain, and went to meet the approaching carriages.

 

 

 

 

A formal dinner, Hux knew, was in some ways comparable to a battlefield. In both cases, success relied upon a strategic disposition of one's troops. Once in position, any given guest was faced with a crucial choice: that of the right weapon, in order to assert their place at the table. The right conversation was a breach towards freedom, or at the very least a guarantee of one's continued survival. The wrong subject must be defused immediately, lest the wrongdoer should take others with him in his fall.

'And how do you like Skywalk, Mr Hux?', the General asked, with a sly look that dared him to turn the question back at her. From what Ren had told him, this was her first visit to Skywalk in thirty years.

'It is a very haunting place', Hux replied, his smile equally sharp. 'I cannot imagine what it would have been like to live here as a child. I am told you and your brother were raised at Skywalk?'

'For a time, yes', the General answered. 'Though I would argue that a child's vision of a place is biased - particularly when the child lacks a point of comparison. Skywalk was the world to us, until I moved to the city.'

'What about your brother?', Hux asked. 'Surely he must miss the family home. I am sorry he could not join us.'

General Organa frowned, a slight inflection of both eyebrows, which suggested enough ice beneath the veneer of civility that Hux resolved to abandon this particular subject.

Fifteen members of the Resistance had answered Ren's invitation. Among these were his mother, now seated to Ren's right, and the girl Rey, who sat to Ren’s left, her dark hair piled up in an unusual hairdo that Hux had never seen in the capital, with three buns at the back of her head, woven with pearls and shiny ribbons of white silk. Hux sat to the General's right, straight across from Captain Dameron. The young man with the military bearing on Dameron's left was the soldier who had trained under Commandant Hux's orders. Dameron had introduced him as Finn Dameron, mentioning that he was a distant cousin. The remainder of the party was an assortment of high-ranking officers and open-minded members of the nobility. Hux's impression was that the Resistance had flocked around General Organa because they had failed to conform to their pre-ordained paths.

While he spoke with his neighbours, Hux tried to eavesdrop on Ren and Rey, who conversed rather loudly at the end of the table. They had only just stopped talking about Snoke, and had moved on to poetry, of all things.

'What is your opinion on the subject, Mr Hux?' Rey asked.

She smiled politely. To Hux it seemed like a taunt. He knew nothing about poetry, having never had the time nor the inclination to engage in that sort of activity.

Rey, however, was undoubtedly well-read. Not only did she sound like she knew every collection of poems under the sun, but she looked like the sort of woman who would also inspire poets, before her doe-eyed beauty led them to jump off a cliff.

Then again, perhaps that simile was not the right one. Hux had been ready to jump off a cliff for Ren, and Ren was certainly not beautiful.

Rey was still looking at him, expecting some form of contribution to the literary conversation she had been having with Ren, and Hux realized, mortified, that Ren and General Organa were also awaiting his answer.

'I am not well-versed in poetry', he said testily.

'Oh, but our current dispute is only marginally related to poetry', Rey said. 'We were discussing the choice of the Devil as a subject matter. Lord Benjamin sustains that the Devil embodies unbridled evil, whereas I was reminding him that to certain poets, the Devil is a figure of loneliness and despair. I believe we should pity such devils, rather than fear them.'

Hux slanted a look in Ren's direction, wondering how he could have become embroiled in such a discussion. Judging from Ren's studied avoidance of the General's eyes, he had been trying so desperately to focus on anything but his mother that he would have discussed petticoats if it had kept him distracted.

'It seems to me', Hux said, 'that those who follow the Devil are staging their own downfall, and it matters little if they were motivated by pity of perversion.'

'I certainly wonder who will fall first, you, or Lord Benjamin.'  
  
Dameron's neighbour mumbled.

'Beg your pardon?', Hux said, before Ren could say or do something impetuous. Hux was surprised that Ren was still in his seat, though he soon saw that Rey was restraining him with a hand wrapped around his wrist. Her attention was on Finn, however, and Hux was certain that she would gladly have thrown herself in front of the young soldier, like a shield would rise to ward off an incoming blow.

Finn did not seem conscious that he needed any protection.

'You may think this is about your father', he told Hux. 'But I have heard about you, as well. How you bartered your way out of prison, devising strategies for the final battles before the treaty - it was all a game to you, wasn't it?'

'Finn', Dameron whispered warningly, shifting in his seat.

'If this is the way you choose to look at it', Hux said. 'I would rather describe it as saving my skin with the one gift Nature gave me, a fairly competent mind.'

It had been a game, indeed, but Hux would never admit to it out loud. He was well-aware that his lack of self-preservation resulted from a flaw in his education.

'And now you are using this competent mind of yours to dislodge hundreds. You are a fiend, Mr Hux.'

'Enough.'

Ren and his mother had spoken at the same time, their tones equally sharp, though perhaps not for the same reasons. Ren had half-risen from his chair and Rey's hand held fast onto his leg, her fingers stark white against the dark fabric of his trousers. Hux averted his eyes, only to find Dameron watching him. Below the table, his foot beat a jerky rhythm against the floor, but he kept his face blank.

'General', he said. 'How do you like the soup?'  
  
'Delicious', General Organa said smoothly.

'Well, we do have very talented cooks', Hux smiled.

 

 

 

 

Once the lengthy dinner was over and all the guests had retreated to their rooms, Hux set off to find the General. He would have warned Ren of his intentions, but a detour by Ren’s room revealed it to be empty. Hux went to the trouble of climbing up to the attic, but Ren was not there either. He did not linger. There was no time to waste, and the attic seemed particularly sinister in the dark.

Ren’s mother was quick to open her door. Hux saw immediately that she had not been getting ready for bed - she was still dressed in her evening gown, and Captain Dameron sat on the stool by her vanity, toying idly with an ivory comb.

'Mr Hux', the General said, with a complex expression that told him that she thought his intrusion was rude, but that he better not retaliate with a comment about the young man in her room.

'General. Captain. May I come in?'

Enough time passed that Hux thought she would refuse and slam the door in his face, but with a loaded look in Dameron's direction, the General finally stepped aside.

Hux did not know why she had been given this particular room. It was by no means the largest among the many bedrooms of the house, nor was it the most handsomely furnished. He guessed it must have been her childhood bedroom, or her brother's. The windows overlooked the front yard, and as he crossed the threshold, Hux caught a glimpse of the coastline, and of the road that led to Jakku, a thin white strip beneath a leaden sky.

‘What could possibly motivate you to call at such a late hour?', the General asked.

Her voice was even, unperturbed, but Hux could tell that the both of them were very interested in what he might have to say. They made him think of hunting dogs, poised in silence a few feet away from their cowering game, but ready to spring should their victim try to flee.

It was this, more than anything else, which spurred Hux to forego his carefully constructed speech, and to blurt out senselessly, ‘I saved your life.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I saved your life’, Hux repeated, less incoherently. ‘Snoke wanted you all poisoned, and I have no doubt that if I hadn’t intervened, the both of you would currently be writhing in your beds, and not discussing some battle plan.’

‘Even if this were true’, Dameron said, head cocked as he gazed intently at Hux, ‘I fail to see what you would gain by saving us.’

‘I have been played’, Hux admitted. ‘I suspect that Snoke grew weary of the influence I had over Ren... over your son’, he corrected himself, daring if only for a moment to hold the General’s gaze. ‘My understanding of the situation is that Snoke meant to get rid of me, and to incapacitate the Resistance.’

‘Was my son aware of this scheme?’, the General asked. For the first time, Hux detected an edge to her tone.

‘I doubt it’, he said. ‘I should think he was too distracted by the lovely Miss Rey.’ Now that the subject had been broached, he found that he couldn’t resist, and he went on venomously, ‘May I suggest that you teach the girl how to behave herself? I do not pretend to know the mores of the nobility, but certainly, leading on a man that she does not intend to marry... This qualifies as improper behaviour, regardless of one's social circle.’

‘Do not presume to lecture my ward on _proper behaviour_ ’, the General said, ice cold.  
  
‘I can assure you that the nobility is far too busy discussing Commandant Hux’s renegade son and his unsavoury association with Sir Kylo to bother about Miss Rey’s conduct’, Dameron added.

‘Now. How about you tell us the details of this supposed poisoning?’, the General suggested.

She sat down in the only armchair in the room, close to Dameron’s stool. Hux shuffled his feet, swallowed his pride, and began to talk.

‘Contrary to what you were told, Snoke did not leave to visit the neighbouring estate.’

‘We had guessed as much’, Dameron noted softly.

‘He departed this morning for the capital, where he intends to attend the next parliamentary session. He will obtain the necessary authorizations and by sundown tomorrow, he will have begun the demolition of Hosnian Square.’

‘This is absurd’, Dameron protested, though an uncharacteristic frown seemed to indicate that he took the situation seriously.

‘Go on’, the General said.

‘Earlier today, I discovered that Snoke intended to poison you’, Hux explained, choosing to leave out the part where he had been aided by the ghost of the General’s husband. ‘I interrogated the cook, an old servant of Snoke’s. She was to poison the plates of every single guest at the table. You would have died during the night, at which point, she would have sent a message to Snoke. Snoke would have had me take the blame for your deaths, and he would have told the authorities that I had convinced him to leave while I carried out my plan. He would have returned tomorrow, without attending the parliamentary session, and I would have been arrested and executed.’

Dameron turned to the General, as if he were waiting for her verdict.

‘He is telling the truth’, she said, as Hux let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. ‘The reason I asked you to come’, she added, addressing Dameron though her eyes remained on Hux, ‘was that I received tonight a visit from Han. My husband’, she clarified for Hux. ‘He confirmed that Snoke tried to poison us, and that Mr Hux here had thwarted his plans.’

‘You might have said’, Hux remarked stiffly. ‘Rather than to let me explain things you already knew.’

‘I have to say, I took some pleasure in watching you squirm’, the General said, her eyes cold. ‘Now. Let us return to the two matters at hand: Snoke, and Hosnian Square.’

Hux would have added Ren to that list, but he wisely decided to stay silent.

‘I suppose that Snoke will remain in the capital now that the poisoning has failed. Should he attend the session as planned, he will retain some leverage over you.’

‘I had reached the same conclusion’, Hux admitted, with a resentful pang of admiration.

‘I will leave for the city at once’, the General told Dameron. ‘Wake up the coach driver.’

As Dameron hastened to do her bidding, she turned back towards Hux, and he was surprised to find the same reluctant respect in her features.

‘I dislike to compromise my principles’, she told him. ‘And associating with the likes of you is a bitter compromise. But I did come here in the hope of a reconciliation, and it seems I cannot get to my son without first passing through you.’

‘I could have said nothing and waited for Snoke to return’, Hux reminded her. ‘My project for the square would have gone ahead. I decided to throw my lot in with you instead. I expect us to discuss a compromise for Hosnian Square as soon as this affair is over.’

 _As soon as I get rid of Snoke_ , he thought.

‘My late husband seems to believe you can be trusted’, the General said. ‘I knew him to be woefully incapable of distinguishing friend from foe, but I suppose death could have improved his senses. We will meet again. Tell my son I will see him soon.’

It was on the tip of Hux’s tongue to point out that she might have taken the time to say goodbye to Ren – it need not have delayed her departure. But they stood on fragile ground as it was, and he watched her ride away from Skywalk without saying another word.

 

 

 

 

After the General had left, Hux tried once again to visit Ren, and once again, he came upon an empty room. He had barely returned to his own room when someone knocked loudly on his door. Upon opening it, he found himself face to face with a sleepy-eyed Mary, and the now familiar figure of Poe Dameron, his beautiful locks somewhat in disarray.

‘You can go back to bed’, Dameron told the girl. Once she had disappeared down the corridor, he turned back to Hux, dark eyes frantic. ‘Finn is missing’, he said. ‘So is Rey.’

‘So is Ren’, Hux added cautiously, as his mind ran through a dozen possible hypotheses that he did not feel like dwelling upon.

Hux couldn’t have said what spurred him to look through the window, though he was well past believing in coincidences at that point. There was not much light to see by, but he could faintly make out three silhouettes on the lawn beneath the window, two dark and one light - Rey, in her gauzy white dress.

'What in the Devil', Dameron muttered, joining Hux at the window.

A flash of lightning illuminated the lawn. In the lapse of time before the thunder followed, they saw one of the dark figures fall, and Rey stooped down, picking up an object that looked unerringly like a sword, the blade catching the light of the lanterns that hung beneath the porch.

'Get a physician', Dameron said, with the brisk tone of a man accustomed to giving orders. Despite his steady voice, Hux could see he had been rattled. His wide eyes would not stray from the scene below, where Rey was now battling the other man, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was wearing a dress.

'There is a physician here', Hux said. His own voice seemed set on betraying him. Try as he might to control it, it remained frazzled and high. 'I'll wake him.'

He had a vague notion of the physician's face. Ren had paid the old man a fortune if he would come and execute one of the myriad inane tasks required to receive the Resistance at Skywalk.

Finding the physician and bringing him out back in his nightclothes ensured that Hux arrived at the scene long after Dameron. When he came into the sitting room that opened onto the lawn, he first saw John and three of the villagers, and then Dameron and Rey standing a little to the side. The Captain was trying to loosen Rey's fingers from around the pommel of a bloody sword.

Walking past the line of servants, Hux glimpsed a pair of evening shoes splattered with grass and mud, and then the motionless legs of Finn Dameron. The physician immediately stopped grumbling about the effect of the cold on his aging bones, and rushed towards Finn. The unconscious soldier had been laid out face down on the dark green rug. Ren had caught him in the back, tearing his evening jacket from his right shoulder to his left hip. The wound did not look overly deep, and Hux let the physician tend to it, walking straight over to the other end of the rug, where Ren was lying on his back with his eyes open, chest rising and falling with every faint rattle of breath. Hux stared at the lurid gash that bisected Ren's face. The sword had only just avoided Ren's eyes and the corner of his mouth. Hux could see the white of bone showing through the torn flesh of Ren’s nose.

‘Should we carry them up to their rooms?’, one of the servants asked. Hux realized upon turning around that the man was addressing Poe Dameron, who appeared to be the most collected person in the room.

‘I will have to bandage this one beforehand’, the physician declared, rising from Finn’s side. ‘But let me inspect Lord Benjamin’s wounds.’

As he shuffled over to Ren, Hux heard him mutter something about ‘duels’ and ‘foolishness’. Dameron went to kneel at Finn’s side and Hux took this opportunity to draw closer to Rey. She still clutched the sword, an elegant rapier that seemed like it had been designed for show rather than for an actual fight.

‘Miss Rey’, Hux said, eyeing the sword with some distrust. ‘Are you alright?’

She looked up at him as if she had only just noticed his presence. Beneath the wet strands of hair, her eyes were feral.

‘He attacked Finn’, she said, defensive.

‘I don’t doubt it’, Hux said wryly.

Keeping Ren, he reflected, was somehow like trying to introduce a wolf into the orderly garden of a villa. Turn your eyes away for a second, and it would devour the peacocks and deface the flowerbeds.

There was a commotion outside the door, and before anyone could react, two or three guests had pushed their way into the sitting room, one of them knocking a candelabrum in his haste, plunging half the room into darkness.

‘Enough!’, Dameron exclaimed. ‘Everyone out, now!’

Before Hux had had time to think things through, he was helping the Captain shepherd the guests into the corridor. The servants were threatened with hellfire should they breathe word of the incident to anyone, and John was tasked with accompanying Rey back to her room. Once the physician had done what he could for the wounded men, Hux helped Dameron carry them back to their beds.

‘We will discuss this in the morning’, Dameron said, when it was only the two of them standing outside Ren’s room, Dameron leaning against the wall to hide his unsteady legs, Hux holding onto the doorframe to conceal his trembling hands. Ren’s whimpers still seemed to echo in the deserted corridor, as if the house were recreating the sound to mock their recent ordeal.

‘Goodnight’, Hux told the Captain, for lack of a better thing to say.

‘Sweet dreams’, Dameron replied, with a shadow of his old smile. ‘I suppose I should thank you’, he added. ‘For refusing to poison us.’

‘Don’t mention it’, Hux said, his voice weaker than he would have wished.

 

 

 

 

When Hux sat down at Ren’s bedside, he found the young lord far more restful than he had been during the painful trudge up the stairs. It might have been a consequence of the cordial the physician had recently forced through his lips.

‘I hope you did not do it to defend my honour’, Hux told Ren’s sleeping form. ‘Aside from the fact that it was completely unneeded, every word Finn Dameron has said about me was true.’

Ren stirred on the pillow. The physician had dabbed his wound with a thick, greenish cream. With his pallid skin and his bloodless lips, Ren looked set to join the ranks of the ghosts of Skywalk.

‘How should I know?’, Ren muttered, his lips barely moving. ‘You never tell me anything about yourself.’

‘I fail to see how it would improve things at present, but fine. Maybe it will keep you from duelling people in the future. My father was executed by a firing squad. This was a year ago. He was in charge of training new recruits, in one of the King’s academies. There he devised a peculiar method. He would pick soldiers with no relations, soldiers less likely to be missed. He had them fight to the death. His idea was to form an elite battalion, with men void of any attachments, motivated only by the need to save their own skin... The situation came to light. Not so much because his methods were questionable, but one of his recruits turned out to be the runaway son of a distant cousin of the King.’

‘What about you?’, Ren asked. His fingers twitched upon the coverlet. Hux pretended not to see when they failed to come within reach of his hand.

‘Me?’, he grimaced. ‘Oh, I was tried as well. My father liked to have me beside him during the first few years of this experiment. After a time, he tired of my continued presence, and I was sent to a repair a distant fort. Another island, another ocean. I hadn’t seen my father in years when they arrested me. You have heard the rest. I provided certain services for the King, in exchange for my freedom. They still took everything. My father’s estate, my mother’s fortune. She couldn’t bear the dishonour. It destroyed her.’

‘I am sorry’, Ren whispered.

‘She didn’t _die’_ , Hux scoffed. ‘She returned to her family, down south. Well. There, you know everything. Are you satisfied?’

‘Yes’, Ren sighed, wincing when the movement jolted his shoulder. ‘I must confess certain things to you as well. About Snoke. About the children.’

‘This can wait until morning’, Hux declared. ‘I am in desperate need of some sleep, and you just lost a duel. Can you move aside?’

Ren obliged, with much grunting and what Hux thought might have been a few tears. He did not comment, and divesting himself of his eveningwear, he joined Ren in the bed, kicking out a book from under the covers before he settled down against Ren’s side.

He tried not to dwell on the many matters he would have to attend to when the sun came up – Rey, Finn and Poe Dameron, the other guests, the servants who had witnessed the aftermath of the duel, the elder Mary and her poisons, the General and Hosnian Square, and of course, Snoke’s eventual return.

It occurred to him, however, that there was still one thing he might do right this very night.

‘Ren?’, he whispered. ‘I made a deal with your mother. I will find a way to free you from Snoke.’

Ren did not reply. The cordial must have finally kicked in. Hux didn’t really mind. He would tell Ren again in the morning, and in the meantime, saying the words aloud had given them more weight, as if he were making a vow.

‘I will free you from Snoke’, he repeated.

And if Ren did not stir, the words did not fall on deaf ears. Though the windows were shut and the door was closed, a succession of drafts seemed to pass through the room. A cold wind blew out the candle by the bed, and a warm breeze ruffled the tapestry masking the secret corridor. Creeping fingers of icy air reached under the bed, tracing patterns in the dust. A damp little draft descended from the chimney, dislodging clouds of soot and extinguishing the small fire in the hearth.

Hux fell asleep, but the ghosts kept watch, speaking in whispers that only they could hear. Before the morning came, one of them had departed, passing through the window as if the glass had been insubstantial. It drifted south along other winds, seeking old grounds and consecrated stones, searching for the shadow of Luke Skywalker. Time had come for him to return to his ancestral home.


	9. Where Hux will not swoon

Hux had never had much of a talent for diplomacy. His skills lay in devising strategies that would ensure victory on the battlefield, with the minimal amount of casualties.

He was under no illusion that a battle could be won without any bloodshed, and it was with this mind-set that he approached Snoke’s inevitable return. This would not be a careful negociation, meant to appease all the parties involved.

No, this was a war, and regardless of his taste for strong walls and an iron defence, Hux knew nothing would ever trump a dirty trick, and an enemy caught unawares. The strongest might fall if he happened upon a sword in the dark of night, with a belly full of ale and a hand fisted around his cock.

Hux exhumed the gun from under his mattress. Ghosts be damned, this particular war would be won the traditional way.

 

 

 

 

'Your mother has gone back to the capital.'

Ren tried to sit up, but he merely succeeded in rolling onto his elbow and peering around the side of the younger Mary, who had come in to arrange his pillows.

'She is angry about the duel', Ren ventured, once Mary had departed. Hux could tell that Ren didn't believe it. Had his mother been angry, she would certainly have remained to confront him about it. The General was not one to shy away from a fight.

'No', Hux said. 'Though I have no doubt she will be angry about that as well, when word reaches her. But she has gone to prevent Snoke from winning over the lords.'

Ren looked confused, though his distress might also have come as a result from the pain of the wound and the haze of the physician’s cordials. The slash across his face looked brighter in the morning light, a glistening red line shot through with dark thread.

'Was this not what you wanted?', Ren asked. 'For the Parliament to support your plan?'

'It was. Until Snoke tried to poison your guests and have me accused of murder. I suppose it was folly to think that Snoke and I could coexist without warring for your...'

'Snoke tried to poison my mother?', Ren echoed, his face a horrified mask, the skin livid on either side of the bright red gash. 'He tried to poison Rey? And you did not think to share this information with me?'

Hux bristled.

'I’d like to point out that none of the people involved thought it necessary to tell you, except me. Snoke certainly did not let you in on his plan, nor did your father, who came to me for help. And your mother thought it preferable to leave at once. I tried to warn you, several times. And when I did find you, you were engaged in a pointless duel!'

'You thought I was aware of Snoke's intentions', Ren said, sounding more aggressive than he had any right to.

'No, Ren. I thought you were off seducing the girl', Hux snapped. 'An equally idiotic move if you ask me. I was right, wasn't I? You were fighting for her favours.'

'No, Hux, I was not.'

Ren's anger was not the usual wild outburst but a simmering thing, which spoke of an unprecedented attempt at self-control. Hux was so surprised by this restraint that he couldn't find a retort. Instead, he remained stunned on his chair like a scolded child, blinking owlishly at Ren.

'With my uncle gone, I thought I had lost the only other person I knew who could converse with the spirits', Ren said. Absently, he brought a hand up to touch his shoulder, where the wound fizzled out in a fine red line. ‘Rey and I, we are the same. I cannot afford to let her go.’

‘And attacking her friend seemed like the best way to achieve this goal.’

Ren scowled. ‘I might have let my passions overrule me’, he admitted. ‘What I truly feel towards Rey is... guilt. But this is not something I can easily confess to her.’

‘Is it something you could confess to me?’, Hux asked, dragging his chair forward by a few inches so he could briefly touch Ren’s knee. The gesture felt perfunctory, something he had picked up somewhere, and remembered as a useful tactic to comfort someone. He returned his hand to his lap, feeling decidedly awkward. This newfound fondness for Ren felt like a foreign language, the grammar of which eluded him still.

‘Snoke killed them all’, Ren said, bringing an abrupt end to Hux’s discomfort. ‘While my uncle was away visiting my mother. Snoke had been with us for months by then. He was a teacher to us – to me, in particular. He told me the others needed to prove their worth. It lasted one night. I woke each of my uncle’s recruits, one at a time. I led them to the cellar.’ His voice deepened, as if he were indeed descending into an underground vault. ‘Snoke led experiments. I saw a child spit out a billowing cloud of smoke with a great gash of a mouth and unseeing eyes. Another screeched in a foreign tongue until he could bear it no more. He swallowed his own tongue. Some danced and some laughed, but it was all like an echo of an echo, the dances never-ending and the laughter ending when they choked. There was one – a girl, eleven years old... It seemed she would make it. Snoke transferred a spirit onto her and she lived. It took us a few days to realize she was going mad. Her mind could not endure the strain – two souls trapped in a single body. Uncle Luke tried to help her, when he returned. She was the only one left. She died in his arms. That was the day he left Skywalk. I buried the bodies, in the park behind the house. Master Snoke told me to take them out to sea, but... I wanted them close. Where they could haunt me, should they wish to do so. I buried them on either side of the wall, at the back of the house. I have never seen them since.’

Hux remained silent. His mind was a confused tangle of distressing images – screaming children merged into the tense faces of his father’s recruits as they charged into one another with their swords in hand, fully conscious that death was the key to their survival. He remembered how he had stood by, in his brand new uniform, the buttons gleaming in a line of fire down his chest. He imagined Ren in that cellar, with that same sullen curl to his lips. A boy embracing death before he had even tried to live.

‘What happened with Miss Rey?’, he asked, fingers digging lightly into Ren’s firm shoulder, for he had been fearful, for a second, that Ren might fall asleep. But it seemed that some memories were stronger than sleeping draughts. Ren went on in the same deep, resounding voice, the voice of a man who had spent the better part of a decade in a ghostly cellar.

‘I gave her to John. I thought if he could get her to the village... She could wait there, until my uncle returned. I can’t be sure of what happened. John left her at the inn, and then... Someone might have put her on the stage coach. She would have been gone before my uncle arrived... I used to come to her when I had nightmares. She would huddle close, keep the ghosts at bay... She had such cold feet.’ He looked up, his gaze full of some distant memory. ‘She will never forgive me, will she?’

‘Now is not the time to be pessimistic’, Hux declared resolutely. ‘Give me the key to that cellar. If I am to take care of Snoke, I need to know what I am up against.’

‘I will come with you’, Ren said, trying to rise. He leaned on the wrong arm and grimaced in pain.

‘I think not. You need to rest. I will find someone to come along.’

Ren handed him the key.

‘Look around’, he said. ‘Don’t touch anything. Don’t listen too closely.’

Hux’s eyes lingered on Ren’s wound, observing the way it seemed to swerve away from his mouth, narrowly avoiding his lips. He thought of asking permission, but in the end, he didn’t need to. Ren leaned back against the pillow, lips parted, and Hux kissed those lips and the jagged line beside them, tasting blood and the physician’s salve. A hint of honey, a whiff of clove.

‘You can ask the ghosts for help’, Ren murmured. ‘Against Snoke.’

Hux hummed in answer. In his opinion, he would have no need of the ghosts. Snoke was not immortal yet.

 

 

 

 

Hux should have been afraid, or, at the very least, warier than he currently was. After all, he was about to visit the place where Snoke had spent over a decade manifesting and devouring spirits, and he didn't even have the protection of someone like Ren, who knew what traps the room might contain, or like Rey, who could communicate with the ghosts.

No, all that he had was goddamn Poe Dameron, with his distracting hair and his sizzling persona. How the captain managed to sizzle in a cobwebbed staircase that smelled like a stagnant well was beyond Hux's comprehension.

'Don’t touch anything', he murmured.  
  
'I know, I know', Dameron said, from a few feet ahead.  
  
Hux had been talking to himself, but he felt no need to point that out.

They both came to a halt at the end of the staircase, gazing at the crypt that lay before them. For it was a crypt, rather than a cellar; a vaulted room not unlike Hux's vision of the place, with wide columns supporting graceful arches. A series of narrow openings high up on one of the walls provided the room with a modicum of light.

The cellar had the appearance of an old refectory, repurposed by a mad alchemist into an operating theatre.

'So this is where Lord Snoke hatches his devious schemes', Dameron said. His voice echoed loudly under the vaults.

'Don’t touch anything', Hux reminded him.

They stepped inside.

Hux walked over to a display that would not have been out of place at an apothecary's. From floor to ceiling, the shelf was covered with row upon row of porcelain jars, inscribed in careful, spidery letters. _Bloodsmoke, Dragon bones, Beetle wings, Child's breath, Nightshade._

'There's something cooking here', Dameron called.  
  
'Let it cook, then', Hux said, his eyes sliding over a jar containing a two-headed piglet.

'Really, you should come and see', Dameron insisted. 'I think I just heard it whisper.'

Hux strode over to the captain's corner of the room, huffing in annoyance. Dameron was standing in front of an assortment of glass alembics and jars. Inside one of the alembics, a yellow liquid seemed to boil, despite the blatant lack of a source of heat.

'I hear no whisper’, Hux shrugged. ‘If you mean that hissing sound, it must be a chemical reaction.'

He walked off, trying to ignore the voice that rose from the jars. It wasn’t a whisper – it was a screech. _Foolish boy foolish man foolish bones foolish son foolish soldier foolish corpse..._

'Watch your step!', Dameron shouted.

Hux stumbled, narrowly avoiding an iron rod planted in the ground, thrumming with invisible energy. The stones around it were blackened and cracked. He sidestepped them carefully.

'I must admit, I mostly came out of curiosity', Dameron said. 'This is all quite disappointing.'

He lifted the lid of a huge copper vat, scrunched up his nose and let the lid fall down with a resounding clang. Hux thought of telling him off, but decided he had given out enough warnings as it was. If Dameron wanted to have his soul sucked out by some liquid ghost, let him be satisfied.

'I never said we would find something', he reminded the captain. The high-pitched cries kept rising from the alembic, and he had a hard time focusing on anything else. Strangely enough, Dameron seemed to be immune to them, for he opened yet another heavy metal lock, this time to uncover what looked unerringly like a baker's oven.

'What do you think he puts in here? Animals? People? Bread?' Dameron slammed the door shut, the gesture full of barely restrained violence. 'We have seen worse, though, have we not? During the war.'

'I'm sure you did', Hux replied absently. He reached for a pile of papers with hesitant fingers, but Ren's warning still rang in his ears. He retracted his hand and left the papers where they were, sitting beneath a plate of half-consumed, moulding fruit.

'You may think you miss it', Dameron said. 'But you don't, not really. What you miss is the impression of being _useful_...'

Foolish lover, the voices cried. _Foolish builder foolish_...

'What do you want me to say?', Hux retorted, as loud as he could in an attempt to cover the hissing voices. 'That I’m sorry? Well, I am. Your friend didn't deserve what happened to him. Not during the war, and probably not last night, either.'

'You make excuses', Dameron snarled. He wore an expression of sour contempt that was at odds with his features, as if invisible fingers had been pulling at his cheeks and digging in at the corners of his lips. Hux felt a shiver run down his spine, unless it was another warning, _Foolish words foolish hands foolish poison..._

Dameron edged towards one of the benches surrounding the operating table. The bench was strewn with metal instruments, a surgeon's kit or the kits of a dozen surgeons. Hux saw Dameron conceal a blade up his sleeve. Suddenly, he regretted Ren’s absence. Ren would have known what had befallen the captain. Hux could only surmise – something in the vat, maybe, which Dameron would have inhaled when he’d lifted the lid...

‘Oh how we hate you’, Dameron said, ‘you and your fine boots and your lordly manners!’ His voice came out wrong, high-pitched and mean.

Hux cast about desperately for an idea. The shelves of porcelain jars might hold the answer to his troubles, but he could hardly sprinkle the captain with a pinch from every jar at hand, and besides, he was quite sure that some of these herbs and powders were meant to be burnt, or diluted.

His other solution was to subdue Dameron, in order to seek Ren's council. This plan seemed compromised by the fact that Dameron was now clutching the blade and muttering about his life as a farmer's daughter. He interspaced his story with rude invectives that Hux chose not to take personally. Since he had no memory of ever murdering a farming girl in an occult ritual, the girl's spirit must have him confused with Snoke or Ren.

'You could help', he hissed between his teeth, addressing he knew not who. Any of the occupants in the room would do, and there were many. The voices rising from the alembic were the loudest, but he could hear others; whispers that went silent whenever he came near, and the echo of footsteps disappearing behind a column.

'Help you?' Dameron laughed. 'I will gut you. I will pull out your innards and study your organs - I will try to sew another man's soul onto your dead body.' As he spoke, he stepped towards Hux, forcing him to step over a bench and then around a table. Hux’s eyes flickered towards the blade in the captain's hand. He needed a weapon. Holding Dameron's gaze, he groped on the table behind him for the small knife that had caught his eye.

By then, he had become so accustomed to the constant screeching at his back that it took him a certain time to notice that the voices had changed their tune.

 _Show him who he is_ , he heard.  
  
His fingers went still, an inch away from the knife handle. Carefully, he withdrew his hand.

Dameron was still mumbling to himself, rubbing his face with the back of the hand holding the knife, as if he’d been extremely weary, or as if he were very eager to gouge his own eye.

'You are a captain of His Majesty's navy', Hux said hesitantly. ‘Famous for your valour in combat and for your dedication to your men. No one could doubt your loyalty, or your kindness.’ Dameron had stopped his advance and he listened attentively, head cocked in a manner that was more animalistic than human. Hux took a tentative breath and went on, quite heedless of what he was saying, eager to keep the captain under his spell. ‘They say one could travel oceans far and wide and not find a better sailor. That you are as brave and reckless as you are handsome. You serve General Organa before the King, and your friends before yourself...’

He did not get to speak another word. Dameron barrelled into him, covering the distance with an utter disregard for his own wellbeing, as if he were throwing his body forward. Hux barely had time to worry about the many objects clattering upon the floor that Dameron’s hands were around his throat.

Hux’s fingers twitched upon the floor, trying to find the knife that the captain had dropped nearby. With his other hand, he reached up and seized a handful of dark curls. He pulled as hard as he could, but Dameron shook him off, his head pivoting at an odd angle upon his neck. Hux had the brief impression that Dameron was trying to shake off the spirit as well as Hux, but the girl’s rage still lied upon his face like a mask. As Hux’s vision began to fade, he tried to look to the side, where the knife must have fallen.

He did not see the knife, but another of the fallen objects caught his eye. A long, silvery shard – a piece of some broken mirror. It was just within reach of his trembling fingers.

He picked it up, heedless of the sharp edges that immediately sliced into his palm. As he was about to lose consciousness, the vaulted ceiling dissolving into bursts of reddish light, he gripped Dameron’s ear, holding his face in place as he thrust the mirror in front of his face.

 

 

 

 

Hux came to slowly, the world reshaping itself around him. The blurred colours divided into a cobwebbed ceiling, and the flame of a candle, and the uneven surface of a dirty wall. He breathed in damp, musty air, and the faraway smell of the kitchen. The ground beneath him was dust and stones. Recognizing the corridor that led to the cellar, he tried to turn towards the door, but found that his body would not allow it. Immediately, a warm hand settled on his shoulder.

‘Don’t try to move just yet. I took the liberty of removing your cravat, but we will need the physician to examine these bruises.’

‘You seem to be taking all of this in stride’, Hux remarked, wincing as he heard his own voice. It was little more than a pitiful croak.

‘I have known the General most of my life’, Dameron said. ‘I cannot say that I’ve had many such experiences, but this wasn’t the first. I owe you an apology. I was reckless.’

‘Well, this was a waste of time’, Hux said. He was relieved to notice that each stuttering breath brought more air into his lungs, making it easier to string his words together.

‘Hux.’ Strangely, in Dameron’s mouth, the familiarity did not sound like contempt. Hux found it difficult to look away from his steady brown gaze. ‘You could have used that mirror to stab me. It was a wild gamble.’

‘No matter what you all think, I don’t enjoy seeing people suffer’, Hux said. He mustered the energy to seize Dameron’s wrist and push his well-meaning hand off his shoulder.

This conversation was skirting too close to his disturbing tirade in the cellar. Impatient to forget that he had recently called Dameron ‘brave’ and ‘handsome’, Hux looked resolutely away from the captain and attempted to rise. Thankfully, Dameron did not try to help him.

Hux had managed to walk a few steps when the captain spoke again.  
  
‘You are a brave man too, Hux’, he said. ‘I will make sure that it is known.’

 

 

 

 

Hux sat patiently in one of the sitting rooms as the physician rubbed a thick paste into the bruises around his neck. Outside the room, the remainder of the Resistance party prepared to depart. Hux and Dameron had agreed to minimize the events of the previous nights, and as far as most of the guests were concerned, the host had been taken ill, and the General required their presence in the capital, where the battle for Hosnian Square had taken a dramatic turn. Hux had taken advantage of the situation to send back most of the villagers as well, loading them with the remaining foodstuffs in order to mitigate their curiosity.

‘I have spoken to Rey’, Dameron said. He sat upon the arm of a nearby chair, his gaze following the movement of the physician’s hands as he wrapped a band of gauze around Hux’s neck. ‘She is grateful to Lord Benjamin for his hospitality.’

As Finn Dameron was unable to move, it had been decided that he would remain at Skywalk for the time being, attended to by Rey and the old physician. It was a decision that Hux had been unwilling to take, since Snoke was bound to return soon, but he had decided to trust the maze-like structure of the house to keep the guests out of Snoke’s way.

‘A noble lie’, Hux huffed, batting away the physician’s hands. ‘I believe the term “hateful” would be better-suited to describe Miss Rey’s current opinion of Lord Benjamin.’

‘Perhaps. I trust however that the feeling is not mutual, and that Lord Benjamin will prove a better host than he has been thus far.’

‘I’ll vouch for him.’

‘I shall remain in the village for the next few days’, Dameron declared. ‘Know that you can send for me, should you need to.’

They had not discussed Hux’s plans, but the fact that Dameron had agreed to leave the house suggested a newfound trust that Hux would not have hoped for a few hours before. Dameron waited until the physician had left the room before he spoke again, leaning forward as if he suspected that they might yet be overheard.

‘Are you sure you will succeed? Lord Benjamin is in no condition to help you.’

‘I’m not facing one of these annoying spirits’, Hux replied, fingers idly touching his bandaged neck.

 

 

 

 

The next time Hux woke up, he was sitting by Ren’s bed. From his vantage point, with his cheek pressed against the red counterpane, he could see charcoal clouds drifting outside the window. It could have been early afternoon; it could have been night.

‘What time is it?’  
  
Ren had a book in his lap, but Hux could tell that he hadn’t been reading. He sat hunched over, and his face was eerily pale. Hux thought that he looked sick. Ren reached into the pocket of Hux's waistcoat, and retrieved his watch.

'A quarter past seven.' In a much sombre tone, he added, 'Who tried to strangle you?'

'A ghost', Hux said, with a dismissive wave. 'Dameron and I might have knocked over a few objects in the cellar. Snoke will know we have been there. I must be upon him the moment he returns. I don't suppose he has sent word of the Parliament session?'

'Poe Dameron?'

Ren seemed torn between a desire to sulk and a genuine concern for Hux's welfare. To Hux's surprise, the latter won.

'Does it hurt?', Ren asked.  
  
Hux laughed - or attempted to, at least. Any contraction of the muscles in his neck was torture. ‘You had your face carved and you ask me if my neck hurts? I will be fine.’

‘What do you intend to do? About Snoke’, Ren added, unnecessarily.

‘Oh, I’ll kill him’, Hux said. ‘Then it will fall to you to ensure that he does not return to haunt the house...’ Ren’s look of apprehension prompted him to change the subject. ‘What will you do, when it’s over?’, he asked.

Ren seemed thoroughly puzzled.

‘I don’t know’, he said. He looked hesitantly at Hux. ‘I would remain by your side’, he ventured. ‘If you would have me.’

‘Ren. If this whole ordeal ended with you deserting me, I would probably consider killing you and trapping your spirit in one of Snoke’s alembics. Don’t be absurd. I want this.’

‘This? The murders? The ghosts?’

‘Yes’, Hux said. Only now did he realize the depths of that statement. ‘The ghosts’, he said. ‘For it is a power, to be allowed to see what others do not. You wondrous creature. This is the future I want: days spent redesigning the capital and mapping this house. Nights spent in bed with you, until you're so spent you can’t even crawl to that bloody cellar. The murders I can do without.’ He frowned. ‘Don’t you cry, now.’

‘Damn you’, Ren huffed.  
  
There was a knock at the door, and the younger Mary came in. She bore a message for Hux.

‘Have you served tea to our guests?’, Ren asked, as Hux glanced down at the letter. It was from Poe Dameron. He read the single line it contained, and passed it to Ren. They shared a look.

‘I have’, Mary said. ‘Now, I know you said you weren’t hungry, but I prepared a tray just in case, I could bring it upstairs in a pinch, if you...’

‘Don’t.’ Ren refolded the message. ‘Mary, have you ever been to the cellar?’

‘No, Sir.’ Mary’s face indicated that not only had she never been, but also that she would also rather not go, if she could help it.

‘Does that story still run around the village’, Ren mused, ‘that anyone who spends an hour there, will meet a fate worse than death?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘And that whatever is locked down in the cellar could be set free, to roam across the countryside in the dark of night? Stealing into the windows of unsuspecting sleepers, slipping right through the cracks of a window frame...’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Thank you, Mary, that will be all.’

Mary hastened to leave, but she had barely opened the door that the knob escaped her fingers. The door slammed shut as if of its own accord. Mary remained wide-eyed and with her hand extended, staring at the door that had just closed in her face.

‘I forget!’, Ren said. ‘None of you will see or hear anything tonight. Perhaps you should all assemble in the kitchen, and feast upon today’s dinner, since our guests left before they could taste your mother’s jugged hare. Have the physician join you.’

‘Yes, Sir’, Mary muttered. This time the door swung open, and she ran out.

‘I have done what I could’, Ren sighed. ‘It shouldn’t take long for Snoke to change horses, he should be here within the hour. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more time.’

‘I don’t need more time’, Hux lied. It was only half a lie. He would have wanted to prepare himself. But he was also impatient to be rid of Snoke. The old lord’s imminent approach already seemed to weigh upon their surroundings. ‘Wish me luck?’, Hux ventured.

Ren remained silent, but he took Hux’s hand where it lay on the counterpane, and brought it to his lips.

 

 

 

 

Hux had left one of the front doors wide open, and he heard Snoke’s approach, the steady patter of the horses’ hooves and the jangle of the harnesses. The inevitability of the confrontation seemed to drown out the storm. The carriage departed once again, headed for the coach house by the gates. Snoke walked in.

‘Lord Snoke’, Hux saluted him.

Snoke came to a stop. He had just removed his hat, and he twirled it pensively between long, bony fingers.

‘Armitage. I was expecting something of the sort.’

Hux waved the gun slightly, motioning for Snoke to start walking towards the back of the house. He was reluctant to talk, wary of Snoke’s powers of persuasion. Still, he could not refrain from asking, ‘Why did you return, if you knew?’

‘There might be a way for us to talk this through’, Snoke said. He walked at a leisurely pace, his eyes focused on the wide curve of the staircase above, on the tall windows and on the dark kingdom of plants that grew ever more bountiful as the eye ascended towards the upper floors.

‘Turn here’, Hux ordered.

Snoke flinched at the harsh command. His expression was one of patient annoyance, as if the situation had been an assault on his fine sensibilities.

‘As I am sure you must know’, Snoke said, ‘this house contains the research of many years. I am an old man, Mr Hux. Beginning anew is no longer an option.’

Hux ushered him into the sitting room where he had found Ren the previous evening. In the aftermath of the duel, no one had thought to come back and set the room to order. A shaft of light from a window fell upon a dark stain. Snoke looked at it with blatant curiosity, but made no comment.

‘Outside’, Hux told him.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Keep walking, my lord’, Hux said, allowing for the pistol to dig into Snoke's back.

‘You do realize shooting me would bring you more trouble than it is worth?’, Snoke said, raising his voice to be heard above the sound of the rain. ‘How glad the Resistance must be, to have you do its dirty work. And what about Sir Kylo? Is he hiding inside the house?’

They reached the pond, with its near-solid mass of stagnant water, tar-black in the low light. Snoke stopped walking.

‘What happens now?’, he asked. ‘What is the next step of this scheme of yours? Will you shoot me, and hide my body at the bottom of the pond? Do I need to point out the many flaws of this particular plan? Or perhaps you intend to drown me. In this case, you should have taken me to the cliffs. Or the moors...’

‘I may not know much about ghosts’, Hux said, ‘but if you think I will risk losing your corpse in the moors and binding you to this place, you are mistaken. I will burn your body, and scatter your ashes.’

Had he had time to refine his plan, he would have had a pyre at the ready, somewhere beyond the park, where the storm ended and the moors began. But he had wasted precious time searching the cellar.

‘Alright’, Snoke said. ‘This has lasted long enough. I was ready to let the boy have you, as a gift of sorts. But this whole charade is exhausting for us both. I will not let you walk me all the way to the moors so you can set up some bonfire. Did you really think...’

Hux pulled the trigger. Despite the overbearing presence of the storm, the shot rang loud and clear, and the gun jerked in Hux’s unsteady hands. At this distance, however, he could not possibly have missed.

And yet, before he had time to gather his bearings, Snoke was upon him, his hands going straight for Hux’s wounded neck.

‘Did you really think’, Snoke hissed, his face impossibly close, ‘that after all this time, a simple bullet could kill me, boy?’

Hux had been right - the bullet had not missed. He could see the hole it had made in Snoke’s face, right between the eyes. There was barely any blood. As he struggled to breathe despite the crushing pressure around his neck, Hux swung his arm upwards and slammed the gun into Snoke’s face. The blow seemed as ineffective as the bullet had been. Before he could make another attempt at freeing himself, Snoke lifted him up with surprising strength.

The landscape spun around Hux in a series of incoherent images – the black clouds swollen with rain, the twisted shape of the trees, the silhouette of a man holding a wheelbarrow, the dark surface of the pond. Snoke shoved his head under the water.

Hux tried to claw at the hands holding him. The gun had fallen, forgotten, to the ground. There were more algae than there was water in the pond. Thick slimy tendrils and soft moss pressed in around him. He would die smothered, rather than drowned.

He was already half-unconscious when the pressure on his neck abated. His hands found the ledge of the pond and he pulled his head out, ready to launch himself at Snoke. For why would Snoke have let him go, if not to pick up the gun and finish him off?

Snoke was not behind him, however, and the gun was still at his feet in the grass. Hux fell back against the ledge of the pond, his chest heaving.

Snoke, he saw, had not gone very far. At first, Hux could only distinguish a slumped mass a few feet away from him, as if Snoke had divested himself of his coat. Then he understood that the mass was Snoke. Nothing moved around the pond. Snoke’s head thrashed underwater, but his body was motionless. Hux stared, and stared, and eventually, he realized that the air around Snoke was not as empty as it seemed.

His mind rationalized the shadowy, half-glimpsed visions into tendrils of mist, creeping in from the trees. His deceiving eyes, however, were certain that they could see hands holding Snoke down, dozens of them. Silvery-pale fingers gripped his hands and his feet, as tight little fists buried his head under the water. The edges of these phantom limbs seemed to dissipate into the night; the hands barely had any wrists, and the wrists never quite turned into arms.

Hux looked towards the other end of the pond, where he could just make out the silhouette of the gardener, with his shapeless hat and his customary wheelbarrow. Hux tried to think of something to say, but the situation seemed unexplainable no matter which way he went about it. He could not explain the ghosts of murdered children, and he could not justify the gun at his feet.

Hux and the gardener watched in silence as Snoke seemed to die not once but half a dozen times. Each time Hux thought the old lord had drowned, Snoke’s head would jerk in the water as he began to struggle anew. For several minutes after the nightmarish cycle had finally ended, Hux kept watching the water, expecting the grotesque spasms to resume.

He was shaken out of his trance by the screeching of the wheelbarrow’s wheels. The gardener was slowly making his way around the pond. When he reached Snoke’s body, he seized it around the waist and deposited it inside the wheelbarrow.

‘Wait’, Hux said. ‘I need to... We must...’

The gardener waved a dismissive hand. Hux opened his mouth to protest again, and was silenced this time by a little hand of the spectral variety. It patted his knee in a vaguely condescending gesture.

‘Alright’, Hux said stupidly, as the gardener began to push the wheelbarrow around the pond. He could still see one of Snoke’s grey hands dangling from it. It swung softly as the man made his way towards the wall.

Hux had never felt so alive as when he stumbled back towards Skywalk on that particular night. Naturally, Snoke’s death had not put an end to the storm, and the rain accompanied Hux all the way back to the house. But there was some relief to be had in the cold, and in the soreness in his limbs, and in the constricting pain in his neck. He could have died smothered by rampant undergrowth, but instead he was heading for the well-lit porch of Skywalk, and for the warmth of Ren’s bed.

 

 

 

 

'Ren.’ This voice was not his own, it groaned and squeaked like the floorboards and beams of the old house. ‘Ren, wake up.'

Ren stirred and cracked an eye open. The fire had all but died in the hearth, but the candles by the bed burned bright. The light stopped short of Ren's scar, condemning one half of his face to the darkness, stretching strange shadows across the other.

'Is it done?', Ren asked.

'Yes.'

Hux began to undress, shedding clothes left and right with little care for where they fell. He found Ren's dressing-robe on the back of a chair and used it to cover his damp skin. Once he was under the covers, he clung to Ren as he had in the shipwreck. Arguably, he was as drenched now as he had been then.

'It is you who are a wondrous creature', Ren murmured against Hux's hair. 'What did you do with the body?'

Maybe Hux should have had qualms about discussing murders in bed. As it was, he merely smiled.

'The gardener’, he mumbled, feeling drowsy already, as if all he’d needed to make up for months of sleeplessness was the presence of Ren at his side.

'The gardener?', Ren repeated.  
  
Hux resented his startled tone. He wanted to rest, and Ren's inflection meant nothing but trouble.

'Yes', Hux repeated. He forced himself to extract words from his painful throat. 'It will be fine. We can trust him.' He waved an airy hand to punctuate his words, although at the back of his mind, worry reared its ugly head.

'We do not have a gardener', Ren said slowly. 'Mary has a small patch... John prunes the trees.'

‘What?’ Hux’s heart thudded loudly against his ribs.

 _I saw him many times_ , he wanted to say. _He was pushing a wheelbarrow around the wall._ Over and over, no matter the weather, or the time of day. And when the man had stopped walking, the spirits of the children had burst forth from the ground and attacked Snoke. Hux shivered.

'My family never did care much about the park', said Ren. 'With the exception of my grandfather's friend, Ben. He planted the trees out back.' Ren seemed seized by a sudden burst of inspiration. 'He was the one who wrote the letter! The letter that my grandfather's ghost gave to you.'

'That book fell', Hux croaked. 'From a shelf.'

'A handwritten copy of a famous artist's codex that happens to be one of my grandfather's most treasured possessions just _fell from a shelf_?' Without lifting his head, Hux could tell Ren was smiling.

'What happened? To that other Ben.'

'He died.'

Hux tried to formulate a question that would translate his thoughts in the least possible amount of words, but to his relief, Ren seemed to read his mind.

'Many spirits hereabouts would have given what little life they had left if it could bring an end to Snoke', he said. 'We can trust old Ben. You should rest. I'll have the physician called up - he can prepare something to soothe your throat.'

Hux was about to obey Ren’s suggestion, but he was prevented from doing so by a sudden assault. Unable to cry out or even draw back, he saw an enormous mass of fur and muscle spring upon the bed. The beast splattered spray-scented rain all over the counterpane, as if it had ascended from the depths of the nearby sea.

The monster growled deep in its throat. Its tiny black eyes were fixed upon Ren, who sat motionless at Hux's side. Since Hux had rather shamefully hidden his head under Ren's arm, he couldn't quite make out Ren's expression, but the arm around his shoulder was painfully tense.

Then, to Hux's amazement, Ren held out a hand towards the creature, and the creature licked his fingers.

'Where have you been, you great oaf?'

The bed trembled as the beast produced a gigantic huff and then flopped down on the bed, burying Ren's legs under what must have been the weight of a small house. It shifted until its head was tucked above Ren's knee and resumed its heavy panting, pink tongue hanging out of an impressive muzzle.

'What', Hux blustered, 'is this?'

'My father's dog', Ren said. 'Chewie. He was on the _Millenium_ when I... When the ship sank. I knew he was around – he sleeps in the gamekeeper's hut, sometimes.' Ren scratched the dog's head. As Chewie whined contentedly, Hux saw Ren begin to smile – not all at once, but in degrees, with a slow, tentative lifting of the corners of his mouth. The result was lopsided and fragile, an endearingly childish sight.

Though Hux knew little about canines, in his opinion Chewie had more bear in it than dog. Perhaps that wasn’t worth mentioning, however. So he let the tension drain out of him, as he kept a distrustful eye on the gigantic beast. Soon his exhaustion took over, and he fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

The following day, Hux was spurred out of bed by damp sheets and by a disagreeable smell of wet dog. Ren was nowhere to be seen. Hux half-expected to find him slumped down in the corridor, but the halls of Skywalk were empty. Hux did not meet anyone until he reached the kitchen, at which point several voices alerted him to the presence of non-ghostly beings.

'I've always loved dogs', said a bright young voice, which he identified as Miss Rey’s.

It was only when he stepped inside the kitchen that Hux remembered he was barefoot and dishevelled, clad only in Ren's well-worn dressing-robe. He must have smelled like the bottom of a pond.

'Mr Hux', the girl said. There was a hint of a warning in her friendly tone, suggesting that his name had been uttered quite recently in the kitchen. Her companion's quick look of understanding confirmed this.

'Miss Rey', Hux replied, with a stiff nod towards the girl, who crouched on the floor with an utter disregard for her muslin skirts, which already bore a pattern of dusty paw prints. She had an arm around the bear-dog's neck.

As for the other man in the room, Hux first mistook him for a vagrant. His coat had obviously been slept in, and his sharp blue gaze was partly hidden behind matted strands of grey-brown hair. Someone had given him a plate of soup, but he’d stopped eating when Hux came in. Out of courtesy, perhaps – or curiosity.

'Mr Hux', the man said. His appearance was offset by his voice, which was smooth and cultured. 'My name is Luke Skywalker. I am told you are acquainted with my nephew, Ben?'

Hux was about to answer when Ren's uncle turned away, as if a noise behind him had caught his attention. The girl followed his movement, her arms still wound tight about the dog's neck.

'Han', Luke said to the air behind him. 'There are ladies present.'

'I'm hardly a lady', Miss Rey scoffed.

She sprung up and walked to the table, where she selected a corked bottle. Having poured a few measures of purple, syrupy liquid into a glass, she went and handed it to Hux. All the while, Hux had been watching her, and Luke had been watching him.

'The doctor said to give you this when you woke up', she said. 'For your throat.'

Hux accepted the glass with a raspy thank you, and swallowed a tentative mouthful. The drink was warm and sweet, honey and rum, with a trace of the table at the back of an inn, where the light is golden and every drink is a promise of sated appetites.

Luke Skywalker waited until Hux had lowered his guard, exposing his bruised throat as he gulped down the rest of the brew. Then he said, 'You can see them too.'

Hux lowered his glass. The both of them were staring at him. He measured his answer carefully.

'I am told it has to do with the house’, he said, his voice still little more than a croak. 'It enables me to perceive things.'

‘Hmm’, Luke said. ‘No. You see them. You’re not as sensitive as Rey is, I suppose, but then, I doubt anyone is, except my nephew, maybe.’ He pushed back the plate of soup. ‘Speaking of the devil. I have matters to attend to... I will see you both later.’ As he was about to exit the room, however, he swivelled back and cast a thoughtful look in Miss Rey’s direction. ‘Are you supposed to spend time alone with men?’, he asked, with what sounded like genuine confusion.

‘I have Chewie’, the girl said. ‘He can be my chaperone. Him and Captain Solo.’

This time Hux felt the answer – the draft whipped across the room so fast that it produced a noise reminiscent of an angry snort.

‘I apologize, but you’re not a man anymore’, Miss Rey told the draft. ‘Therefore, I have nothing to fear from you. My reputation is safe.’

‘Join me, later on.’ It was unclear whether Luke was addressing the girl or the draft. Both nodded, the girl solemnly, the draft in a lengthy whisper that sent a few papers flying.

Once he was gone, it was only Hux and the girl – and, admittedly, the ghost and the enormous dog. The kitchen was more crowded than Hux would have liked. He made his way to the bottle or syrup, and replenished his glass.

‘We were thinking of staying’, Miss Rey said.

‘And who would we be?’, Hux asked.

‘Finn and me. Have you seen how old that doctor is? He’ll need a replacement someday. He could train Finn. And I could be Brother Luke’s apprentice.’

Hux was about to remark that Luke was hardly a monk anymore, but he figured that ‘Brother Luke’ was as suitable a name as ‘Luke Skywalker’.

‘Does Ren know that you intend to stay?’

‘Well, I’m not sure’, the girl said, plopping down onto a chair and pulling a plate of fruit towards her. The dog shuffled to her and put its head in her lap. ‘He ran off when Brother Luke arrived. We did not have much occasion to discuss it. Have you heard from Poe?’

Hesitantly, Hux joined her at the table with his glass of syrup.

‘No’, he said. ‘How could I have? I only just woke up.’

Miss Rey turned away, presumably listening to something Captain Solo was saying. ‘Thank you, but I can take care of myself’, she said. ‘Oh, alright then. Good luck.’ The draft ruffled Hux’s hair as it swept by.

‘What was this about?’ Hux asked.

‘He said I should keep the dog while he went in search of Ben and Brother Luke. I don’t mind keeping the dog. But I don’t fear you.’ Seeing that this statement seemed to amuse Hux, she felt the need to clarify: ‘Oh, I might have, a few weeks ago, when all you cared about was your reputation. But now? You care about Ben, and this house, and the ghosts. And I haven’t come to endanger any of that, so...’

‘I might not mind you staying around’, Hux admitted, though even as he said it, he felt a stab of longing for an empty Skywalk that would just have been Ren and him, and maybe a few ghosts to keep Ren occupied. Long days spent in the attic dissecting architectural plans, long nights spent fucking, in Ren’s bed or on the rug by the hearth. Skywalk was a huge house, however. It was the sort of place that would never seem completely empty, or fully inhabited, no matter how many people took up residency within its walls.

‘I suspected you would not mind’, said Miss Rey.

‘What about Ren? Snoke might be gone, but that doesn’t mean Ren will be eager to revert to Brother Luke’s teachings.’

‘What is it that Ben wants more than anything else?’ 

It sounded like a riddle rather than a question. Hux thought about it.

‘He is fascinated by his grandfather’, he said.

‘He is. Do you know what happened to his grandfather?’

‘There was a story involving an army of ghosts?’, Hux ventured. ‘And Emperor Palpatine, whom I’d always assumed had died falling from a horse.’

‘Yes. He might have, for all I know. In any case, his death led Anakin to return to Skywalk. He’d spent several years away from home, and the house had changed in his absence. His young wife, the lady Padme, had passed away, leaving behind two young children.’

‘General Organa and Brother Luke’, Hux said. He found that he quite enjoyed listening to Miss Rey. She had Ren’s taste for good storytelling, but without his penchant for dramatics.

‘Yes. Until Anakin’s return, the children had known no other guardian than his lifelong friend, Ben. Both Ben and Anakin’s wife had tried to write to him during his absence, but none of the letters had reached him. Anakin did not take well to his wife’s passing. And from then on, there are two stories. You see, when Anakin and Ben passed away, the children were still very young, and they were sent to different relatives. They grew up hearing different versions of their father’s demise. Luke was told that Anakin set fire to the house, putting an end to his life, and endangering the lives of his children. But Leia’s guardians told her that Anakin had made a foolish bargain in order to fulfil the Emperor’s wishes. He’d found ancient ghosts, and he’d promised to them that he would set them free once they had fought in the Emperor’s army. When the Emperor died and Anakin left, the ghosts followed him back to Skywalk, and when he refused to help them, they started the fire, and caused his death.’

‘Which version do you believe?’

‘Does it matter? No matter which version you choose, Anakin is guilty. But the first story explains why Luke Skywalker resented his father. And unfortunately, Anakin’s ghost has decided that he will not find peace until he obtains his son’s forgiveness. Which brings us back to your question: why would Ben reconcile with his uncle?’

‘Brother Luke intends to help Anakin’s spirit.’

‘It is a relief to me, too’, Miss Rey said, with a rueful smile. ‘Anakin’s ghost terrified me as a child. He used to pass through my room at odd hours, covered in burns, and always in silence. It was a sinister sight. Well! If we’re done here, I will go and write to Poe. You should find Ben. He only runs because he expects people to go after him.’

Hux rose and went to hold the door for her. ‘Give Captain Dameron my regards’, he said.

‘Oh, I will. Isn’t it strange, that all it took for us all to finally get along was a series of attempted murders?’

Hux refrained from pointing out that some of these murder attempts had been successful.

‘Strangeness is a way of life around here’, he shrugged. ‘I suppose we might as well get used to it.’

 

 

 

 

Thinking he would have to brave the cliffs once again, Hux retrieved warm clothes from his room and borrowed a rope from the coach house. When he reached the cliffs, however, he was relieved to find Ren standing near the edge with his hands behind his back, his dark coattails flapping behind him. He was bareheaded, his hair wet with rain, which Hux took as a sign that Ren was in a dramatic mood. Though he did not seem to suffer from his wound at present, Hux doubted a prolonged exposure to the rain would do him any good.

‘The ship is gone’, Ren called out mournfully. ‘The water rose and shattered it upon the reefs.’

 _Thank God_ , Hux thought.

‘What a shame’, he said.

‘Oh, I suppose it’s all right. Uncle Luke says that my father’s ghost could remain with us, that a reconciliation between us need not make him disappear. He will help me, with the ritual. Uncle Luke loves his rituals.’

‘Well. If all is well, why do you stand here like the bride of some sailor lost at sea?’

‘You received a letter’, Ren said. ‘This morning, while you were asleep.’

‘A letter from whom?’, Hux asked. Realization dawned on him. ‘Mitaka. This again?’

Ren sighed theatrically. And then, to Hux’s amazement, he laughed.

‘Yes’, he said. ‘Here you are. John handed it to me as I was going out. But you should have seen your face. Such a picture of patient suffering. I will be sure to write it into my novel, someday.’

‘You are insufferable’, Hux grumbled. But it was half-hearted, at best. ‘Might we go back in, now that you’re done ship-sighting?’

 

 

 

 

As they ran back to Skywalk under the pouring rain, Hux’s only objective was to drag Ren to the attic, and make up for lost time. But this plan was to be thwarted time and again. They first came upon the two Marys in the kitchen, where the youngest had questions regarding the room where Ren’s uncle would be staying. Then it was the baronet from the neighbouring estate, who had come for some saplings Ren had apparently promised and then failed to deliver. Once the neighbour departed with his plants, Miss Rey reappeared, and Hux had to sit for tea in a stuffy little parlour, the better to listen to the tale of Finn Dameron’s slowly improving health. He suspected this whole meeting had been set up to torture Ren, and in a way, it did work. By the time Hux and Ren finally made their way to the attic, Ren's frustration led him to fall upon Hux with such enthusiasm that he tumbled them both to the ground.

‘Tell me how we will rule the world’, he whispered fervently. Intent on avoiding Hux’s bruises, he framed his face between his hands. Hux had had rougher interactions in mind, but for the time being, he rather enjoyed being revered.

‘We should start with the capital’, he said. ‘Wait. Did you lock the door?’

‘I did’, Ren assured him. He took advantage of Hux’s distracted glance towards the door to wrap an arm around his waist and pull the both of them onto what must have been the ugliest couch in the room, a lavender-coloured monstrosity with a pattern of frolicking shepherdesses. Hux followed the movement without thinking, parting his legs so Ren could settle between them.

‘What about the ghosts?’

‘I will smite any ghost that dares to interrupt us’, Ren vowed. ‘And I bargained with one of them. If he keeps watch for me, I’ll read him his favourite book aloud, since he cannot turn the pages by himself.’ He began to undo the buttons on Hux’s waistcoat. ‘Tell me more. About the capital, about what we will do.’

‘I have been thinking of that bell-tower your grandfather drew’, Hux said, lifting his arms so that Ren could pull off his shirt. ‘With a few alterations... Ah...’ Ren had dipped his head beneath Hux’s collarbone, chasing a trail of freckles downwards until his lips closed around a nipple, teeth clamping down hard on sensitive flesh. ‘I could’, Hux tried, his still-fragile voice stuttering, ‘turn it into a... For Heaven’s sake, Ren! How do you expect me to talk when you’re...’

He arched his back, allowing better access to Ren's mouth, but the temptation to continue his impassioned ramblings was too strong. Soon he rounded his shoulders and lowered his mouth to Ren's ear, whispering 'avenues' as Ren's fingers dug into his back, and 'a rationalized classification of buildings' as he bucked his hips, and 'not an army, an empire of ghosts', as he buried his hands in Ren's black hair and Ren surged up for an enraptured kiss, his eyes gone dark with visions of greed and glory.

There was no use telling Ren this would not happen before quite some time. Everything seemed possible in that moment - insubstantial castles and the possession of crowds, an old-fashioned crown on his head and Ren's hand extended over an army of millions, and not as an alternative but as a concurring event, a lifetime of this, Ren's fingers slowly working him open, Ren's mouth a warm and dark place to be brutally conquered. Hux's joy was a fierce and uncontrollable thing, a frightening discovery that had him tottering on the edge of a chasm where he would have plunged for another taste of Ren's fingers in his mouth and a re-enacting of that startling second when he felt his heart beat against Ren's palm and they both realized, at the exact same time, that their lives were by far the most precious currency they possessed.

'Harder', Hux rasped. 'Harder, what are you afraid of? That you will tear me apart? This is what I _want_.' When Ren failed to comply fast enough, he pushed him down on the couch and rode him until he came with a startled gasp, feeling something become untethered inside him - he breathed harshly once, twice, unable to understand what was happening, beyond the fact that he had never experienced anything like it - it was the exhilaration of the fall, without the fear induced by the approaching ground. Distantly, he felt Ren give a final thrust, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself deep inside Hux. Before he had even begun to recover, Ren flattened a trembling hand against Hux's ribs. Anchoring the part of him that he had inadvertently set adrift.

Hux stared at Ren, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, his eyes full of wonder.

'I didn't mean to', Ren said, hesitantly, but Hux did not let him say another word. He kissed him again and again, feeling laughter bubble up inside him like the headiest draught.

'You wondrous creature!', he cried, and then, in a whisper against Ren's lips, 'I have found a god. I have found a god of my own.'

 

 

 

 

_Dear Dopheld,_

_Thank you for your letter. I am glad to hear that General Organa has reached out to you, and that you will be taking part in what is sure to become one of the greatest urban endeavours of this century._

_As you may have guessed, I had envisioned a far more expeditious process. Beggars cannot be choosers, however, and this beggar is content with having been chosen to lead the works, even if the square must be rebuilt one side at a time. I suppose this has to do with a rehousing plan. I know how insistent the General must have been on that front._

_While on the subject of the General’s whims, you do well to tell me about this ‘scheme for the improvement of the poorer districts’. Neither Ren nor I had been made aware that we would have to take part in that project. I suppose the Resistance means for Ren to contribute money, while I provide ideas? I shall strive to come to town later this week, in order to discuss these matters. (You may assure the General of my good will. Whatever sarcasm you might have perceived in the preceding lines is for your eyes alone.)_

_You might have heard of Lord Snoke’s disappearance. Rumour has it that he has returned to the Eastern lands from whence he came some twenty years ago. My personal belief is that in the course of his occult research, he got lost in the storm, and wandered off a cliff. The cliffs around here being completely impracticable, I doubt we will ever find him again._

_It is very considerate of you to ask after Ren. His lordship received a rather conspicuous wound during a duel a few days ago. In my opinion, it has done little to alter his figure. Singular he was, singular he will remain. He is as temperamental as ever. At present, he engages in experiments pertaining to the weather here at Skywalk. Miss Rey agrees with me that whatever comes of it, it can hardly be worse than the current climate of perpetual rain._

_Do pass on my greetings to Captain Phasma. I shall see you both very soon._

_Yours most sincerely,_

_Armitage Hux_

_PS: I am delighted to hear that you have made a friend. Before I met Ren, I did not have a full understanding of the importance of heartfelt companionship. I do now, and I wish you all the best._


End file.
